


It's a Little Off The Wall

by pmastamonkmonk



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Popstar, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmastamonkmonk/pseuds/pmastamonkmonk
Summary: Alastor is best known for singing jazz, swing, and a little bit of Motown when the fancy strikes, but his career has begun to stagnate. Record sales are slipping, tour attendance is waning, and now the executives are asking for him to be an opening act for Angel Dust, the hottest pop star on the scene with a reputation of debauchery befitting his name.It'll be easy enough to keep the other man at arm's length, of course... won't it?
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 144
Kudos: 317





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> @Natsu_Amakumi on twitter posted beautiful art of Angel Dust as a pop star and Alastor as a Swing singer back in May and inspiration hit. Please go give them some love because their art is gorgeous all around and they post some absolutely amazing RadioDust content <3

“I refuse.”

“Alastor, you know what the sales of your latest album have been like. You don’t have a choice.”

“Of course I do. I’ll liquidate my assets and buy a bookshop or something and live the rest of my days as a has been, recognized fleetingly by those who appreciated me in my prime.”

Rosie snorted, rolling her eyes. “You’re thirty-four.”

“So?”

“Look, touring with Angel Dust will be a great boost for your career. It’s amazing exposure to an untapped well of possible fans.” Rosie tapped a finely manicured nail against the contract, fluorescent sticky tabs attached where Alastor would need to sign and initial. “He’s not that bad, okay? I’ve worked with him before. Despite what the papers say he’s actually quite talented and very driven. His career speaks to that.”

“The man has a song titled _Glitter and Cocaine._ He just did a stint in rehab last year.”

“Which means he’s on even better behavior than usual.”

Alastor sneered, “Why was I even asked? Our musical styles completely clash!”

“You need to branch out your interests, you’d be surprised at the crossover appeal.”

He gave an unimpressed look and she rolled her eyes again.

“If you spent any time at all on the internet, you’d know that he dropped an EP of vintage inspired covers of his more popular songs a few months ago. They went viral and there’s been a spike in interest for popular modern music with a vintage spin which has led to a spike in interest for vintage music as a whole. The execs think having you open for his tour will bridge the gap even more.”

“The gap? It’s more of a gaping chasm.” Picking up one of the magazines Rosie had piled next to the contract, he slapped the back of his hand against the cover where the singer was posed, mouth open and tongue out lewdly with hands bedecked in an absurd amount of rings cupping his cheeks and tangled in the blonde waves of his hair. His makeup was heavy, eyes darkly lined and shadowed which only drew more attention to the fact that one was blue and the other green – though he was sure editing had something to do with the vibrancy of the irises.

His lip curled into a grimace.

“I sing swing, jazz, hell I’ve even dabbled in Motown when the fancy strikes but you _know_ how I feel about this… this electronic bubblegum pop monstrosity people are calling music nowadays! It’s autotuned _noise_!”

“Noise that sells a hundred times better than your music does,” Rosie replied with no small amount of condescension to her voice. “His cover versions were good, even if you don’t like the originals I think you’d actually like the new versions.”

Scoffing, Alastor dropped the magazine to the table, absently pushing the others aside to reveal more with the star on the cover. “Something tells me a big band sound won’t elevate lyrics about snorting cocaine and having unprotected sex with strangers… wasn’t he arrested during his last tour?”

“All the charges were dropped,” Rosie replied blithely. “Look, for all of his scandals, Angel Dust fills stadiums while you’re barely holding down casino ballrooms. He’s a certifiable star and this is not an opportunity to miss out on.”

Alastor scowled down at a magazine as it was revealed, a gossip rag with loud yellow lettering smattered across the cover. _IS LOVE HIS NEW DRUG?_ – _Out of rehab but back to his same old tricks, will this pop star ever settle down?_

Paparazzi photos scattered across the backdrop, showing the titular pop star on the arm of several different men through the previous years of his career as well as a few since his stint in rehab the year prior, none of whom Alastor could name despite recognizing them as other somewhat mainstream musicians. Most of them were under the same label if he wasn’t mistaken.

Rosie sighed, finally folding her arms over her chest and leveling him with a stern expression. “Alastor. I have been your manager for close to a decade at this point. Have I ever even _shown_ you a contract that I don’t think would serve you well? Let alone demand that you sign it?”

Frowning petulantly, he huffed, sitting back in his chair with his own arms crossed. “…No.”

She sighed, shaking her head slowly before nodding at the contract. “The executives themselves asked for you, that’s a big deal. It’s a two month tour, please at least consider it.”

\--

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“So you’ve said, _cara de verga_. All through the two weeks of rehearsals. And the entire six hour flight. At this point, I think you’re just saying it to say it. Hell, you haven’t even met the guy, you might actually like him.”

Grimacing, he looked away from the passing scenery and back to Vaggie, his personal assistant. She had pulled her long, dark hair back into a high ponytail and out of her face, giving her a clear view of the phone in her hands. Her chestnut skin and hooked nose gave an intimidating edge to her patented resting bitch face, increased in ferocity by several hours on a plane, but after years of working together Alastor was undaunted.

“Angel Dust? The pop star named after drugs, who was just in rehab for severe drug use, arrested for not only assaulting an ex boyfriend’s new partner but also several paparazzi, found on the cover of dozens of tabloids for his sexual exploits and short lived torrid affairs… yes, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

Rolling her eyes and tapping at her phone, Vaggie smirked. “Well, when you put it that way, he might actually get that stick out of your ass and convince you to have some fun for once in your life.”

“Fun!” Alastor laughed drily.

“Yes, _fun_. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, _cabrón_. It’s what the rest of us normal people like to get up to when we’re not working instead of shoving our faces in a book. It’s a two month tour, I’m sure you’ll find something to talk about trapped in a bus together.”

Alastor groaned at the prospect, rolling his gaze back out the window. “We don’t have to get on the bus until after tomorrow’s performance, right?”

“Right. They’ve got you set up at a Hilton under a false name.”

“They didn’t put me in-“

“No suite. Just a normal hotel room. As usual.” Vaggie finally looked up from her phone. “Do you think so little of me?”

Sighing, Alastor thumped his forehead against the window. “I’m rethinking most of the life choices that have led me here, don’t take it personally.”

After a few more minutes, the hired car pulled into the entryway of the hotel and Alastor donned his sunglasses. He wasn’t a large enough name to draw any real attention, but he appreciated his privacy and did what he could to avoid the unlikely fan encounters altogether.

Vaggie pulled their suitcases out of the trunk, most of his luggage having been shipped ahead to the tour bus, drawing out the handles and wheeling them with practiced ease as they crossed the threshold. Alastor slipped to the side, out of the way, as Vaggie went to the desk and checked them in.

The process was quick and professional and the lobby stayed blissfully empty throughout. Before he knew it they were making their way to the elevators, watching the numbers count down with its approach.

“Incoming,” Vaggie whispered under her breath and Alastor bit back a sigh at the sound of approaching footsteps, turning to face his tour mate.

The first thing he noticed was that Angel Dust was surprisingly tall. His delicate features and willowy frame made him seem smaller in photos and on camera, but he had at least a few inches on Alastor’s own impressive height. His platinum blonde hair curled in loose waves around his face, stopping just shy of his shoulders and melting into the fur collar of his trademark bomber jacket.

He’d seemingly just arrived from the airport as well, a set of eye piercingly pink leopard print suitcases being dragged by the blonde assistant next to him, a pair of matching, obnoxious heart shaped sunglasses hiding much of his face, doing far more to call attention to him than to act as any sort of disguise.

“Alastor! They didn’t say you were here already!”

Alastor plastered on a smile, removing his sunglasses and holding out a hand politely. “Anthony. Pleasure to meet you.”

Flicking his own sunglasses into his hair, the pop star revealed his famous heterochromic eyes but Alastor found himself more distracted by the wide, boyish smile that crossed his face and the constellations of freckles on his pale cheeks. He gripped Alastor’s hand in a surprisingly firm handshake, the contrast of their skin tones all the more apparent in close proximity, winking. “Call me Angel, I’d hug ya but they said you ain’t the touchy type.”

“I appreciate that… Angel.”

“Thanks for coming on board, I was real excited when I heard you’d said yes. The production team’s been bustin’ ass so I hope you’re ready to pop this fucker off!”

Alastor resisted the urge to grimace, the other man’s thick New York accent and casual use of expletives already grating on his nerves. “I’m sure.”

The elevator dinged its arrival and much to Alastor’s chagrin was empty, leaving plenty of room for the pair of newcomers to slide in alongside him and Vaggie. He noticed his assistant was already chatting with Angel Dust’s, the two seeming to have caught on quite well as they swapped numbers and stories about their respective flights.

Which sadly gave Angel Dust more of an excuse to speak to him.

“It fuckin’ sucked that I never saw you durin’ rehearsals, but I guess that makes sense since I was learnin’ choreography and you probably had to get the band up to snuff on your set list. Did you meet Husker, at least? He’s real anal about the lighting and pyrotechnics and stuff, figured he’d be up your ass from day one.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Angel Dust grinned, “Well he’ll catch you when you least expect it, fucker’s talented like that.” The elevator stopped and Angel looked up at the display in surprise at the low floor number. “This your floor?”

“Yep, that’s us,” Vaggie agreed, adjusting her grip on the suitcases as the doors slid open and stepping out. Alastor followed and, again to his displeasure, Angel Dust followed.

“Chacha, bring my stuff upstairs. I’ll meet you in a few, just wanna chat a bit more before I have to see Vee.”

The blonde looked concerned for a moment before plastering on a smile and nodding. “Right. Text me when you’re upstairs!”

He waved his hand noncommittally, walking to the fork in the hallway and glancing both ways before turning to the pair expectantly. Vaggie looked to Alastor for a brief moment before pressing forward, leading them down the hallways, dragging both of their suitcases behind her. Alastor bit back a sigh as Angel Dust trotted alongside, far too close for his comfort.

“Got a look at your set list, I’m excited to see it on stage tomorrow,” Angel Dust beamed and Alastor caught sight of what appeared to be a gem stone glittering on his canine. “Especially _The Lady is a Tramp_ , really like your version.”

Alastor was actually surprised by the compliment. He knew, abstractly, that Angel Dust had to have shown some interest in his opening act, but knowing his particular genre didn’t have the widest appeal he hadn’t expected the other man to actively enjoy his music. “Thank you, it’s one I enjoy performing and the fans seem to like it.” Realizing the other man was surely expecting a compliment in return, he turned up the charm. “I haven’t been given the pleasure of seeing your set list, though I’m sure it will be quite... exciting.”

It sounded hollow and cliché even to his own ears and he could see the way Angel’s brow knit up for just a moment before smoothing just as quickly. “I’m pretty jazzed for it.”

They stopped at a door about three quarters down the hallway, Vaggie sliding the key card in with practiced ease and holding the door open for Alastor. After giving the other man a glance, he walked in, beelining for the opposite side of the room, opening the curtains to reveal the city view.

Angel Dust of course followed him, frowning. “The fuck? This is where the label put you? Nah, nah, why ain’t you upstairs like me in a suite? Fuck, lemme go talk to the desk, that’s bullshit.”

“Alastor prefers smaller rooms,” Vaggie explained, exasperation leaking into her voice as Angel Dust started towards the door. The pop star paused, blinking a few times before looking at the humble hotel room again.

His eyebrow raised skeptically. “Really?”

“Considering we’ll spend most of the tour on a bus, this is more than enough space for me.” Alastor watched as Vaggie set his suitcase on the luggage rack before nodding to her. “Heading out?”

“Unless you need something. I’ve already placed your dinner order with room service to arrive in half an hour and we’ll be leaving tomorrow at the usual time.”

“Thank you.”

Vaggie gave them one last look before heading towards the door. As it clicked shut, Angel Dust sat on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands. Alastor supposed he should be glad the other man wasn’t resting his feet on the bedding.

“You really okay with a room like this?”

“Yes.”

Angel Dust gave the room another quick once over before shrugging. “Alright, then. If you need to stretch your legs or whatever, my door’s always open.”

Alastor smiled with just his mouth. “How kind.”

“I’m wrecked,” the pop star sighed theatrically, “they had me on some stupid talk show this mornin’ before my flight to promote an’ I couldn’t even sleep on the plane ‘cause some kid was kickin’ my seat the whole time. Forgot how much coach fuckin’ sucks.”

“You didn’t fly first class?” Alastor was somewhat surprised the other man hadn’t flown on a private jet. Even he’d swung for first class tickets for him and Vaggie.

“I was supposta,” Angel Dust hummed, “but this nice couple in I met in the airport was flyin’ to their honeymoon, gave ‘em me and Chacha’s tickets. Hope they dick down tonight, best way to celebrate a marriage.”

The small spark of surprise he felt at the other man’s generosity was quickly extinguished by the lewd comment and the obnoxious laugh that followed.

“You excited for the dry run tomorrow? Never feels real til I’m outta the dance studio an’ on the stage, but s’kinda creepy singin’ to an empty audience, y’know?”

“Simply part of the show experience, sadly.” Alastor glanced at the clock, making no move to disguise the motion and sure that Angel Dust caught it. “I’m sure you’re quite experienced with that, this being your… third tour?”

“Fourth.” Angel Dust corrected, smirking, “not that I remember mucha the last one, y’know?”

“Hmm.”

Angel Dust’s smirk fell.

“As much as I hate to cut this short, I am quite exhausted myself and hope to turn in early… I’m sure you’re needed to discuss what sort of glitter and what not you’ll need for tomorrow.”

“…right.” The pop star hesitated for a moment before swinging to his feet and Alastor was again caught off guard by how much taller the other man was. Angel Dust ran a hand through his hair absently, the waves flowing back into place stubbornly, and smiled wide again. “Since I prolly won’t catch you tomorrow what with all the shit we gotta do, figure I’ll ask now. I can neva sleep the first night on the tour bus-“

“I’m going to stop you there.”

Angel Dust’s teeth clicked together audibly as his mouth shut in surprise.

Alastor angled his chin up, “I’m quite familiar with your reputation and believe it’s prudent to make you aware of my immediate disinterest in the prospect. I have no desire to participate in one of your famous _wild tours_ or partake in any of your many vices.”

“My _what_?”

Despite the insulted tone to Angel Dust’s voice, he pressed on. “I believe it will be in both of our best interests if we maintain a distance during all of this, don’t you? Wouldn’t want fuel the rumor mill.”

“Look, fucker, I don’t know where you get off but I’ve been nothin’ but nice t’ya since I got here even though every fuckin’ word outta your mouth is drippin’ with contempt. The fuck is your damage?”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you bullshit me,” Angel Dust snarled, eyes practically glowing. “What, you thought I was makin’ a go at you? Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself.”

“Not as though it’s the first time you entangled yourself with a tour mate.”

Angel Dust glowered and Alastor vaguely noted that the magazine cover hadn’t been edited all that much. “Is that it? You think I’m a stupid fuckin’ skank?”

Alastor crossed his arms behind his back. “Your stage persona speaks for itself.”

“I ain’t my stage persona,” Angel pointed a furious finger at him, poking him roughly in the sternum and he barely resisted stumbling backwards at the force of the jab. “And if you think I am, then maybe _you’re_ the fuckin’ idiot here!”

“Anthony.” Alastor chose his name pointedly, pleased with the frown it received. “I signed on to this tour at the behest of my manager and the label. You aren’t my first choice for a collaboration, you’re not even my twentieth. Your reputation does far more than precede you and the sort of entertainment your media presence gathers is not at all the sort I have any interest in. I’m not on this tour to make friends; I’m here to work and to perform actual music.” He looked at him down his nose, eyebrow raised. “If you want someone to _party_ with, I’m most certainly not it.”

Alastor expected more a reaction from his dressing down, even if it was just more anger and screaming. Instead, Angel Dust stood up to his full height, dropped his sunglasses over his eyes and shrugged.

“Your loss.”

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, he took the few steps to the hotel room door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“But I think all that shit says way more about you than it does about me.”

Alastor watched as he slipped through the door, the latch clicking into place loudly in the silence left behind. Sighing deeply, he shook his head.

“What have I signed myself up for?”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, after a hot shower and a half decent room service breakfast, Alastor stepped into the hallway with Vaggie right on schedule. Despite the concern of reprisal from the conversation the night before, he felt refreshed from a decent night’s sleep, and was excited to get to the venue and begin the final checks before their first night of performances.

Though the concert itself wouldn’t start for hours yet, he knew the time would fly by with stage rehearsals and final tweaks to lighting and audio equipment. The first day of the tour was always the most hectic as the final bugs were found and quashed, but Alastor was used to it, eager to get it out of the way.

Vaggie was typing at her phone as they approached the elevator, “They want you to meet with the head of tech right away.”

“Of course.”

“The band members are scheduled to arrive around five for the sound check. Angel Dust’s team will be doing their final dance rehearsals before that and we’ll have dinner while he’s doing his official sound check. Your belongings will be moved out of the hotel and onto the tour bus and we hit the road by midnight to make it to Atlanta by late morning.”

Alastor beamed, straightening the cuff of his shirt, “On top of everything as always.”

“It’s what you pay me for.” Shrugging, Vaggie rolled her eyes to the side, “Couldn’t hurt to pay me more, though.”

Laughing good naturedly, Alastor turned back to the elevator as the doors opened, his smile falling slightly at the current passengers.

“Vaggie! What a coincidence!” Charlie beamed, her blonde hair bouncing and eyes lighting up at the sight of the brunette. Curiously, Alastor could see his assistant’s face flushing slightly, a small smile curving her mouth. “You guys are heading over now, too?”

Angel Dust had his sunglasses in place, hiding his eyes, though Alastor could tell by the slump of his shoulders and the downturn of his mouth that the other man was exhausted. He was also suddenly several inches taller than Alastor remembered and he glanced down to see him wearing a pair of knee high slouchy white stiletto heeled boots. He still had his bomber jacket on, though underneath were a pair of frayed denim shorts and a distressed t-shirt with the bottom half cut into fringe until just below his rib cage.

He resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the sheer amount of exposed skin.

“Yeah, we need to meet with tech for some stuff before we do a run down with the band,” Vaggie stepped into the elevator leaving Alastor no choice but to follow. As the girls crowded together excitedly, he found himself stood next to Angel Dust, somewhat bothered by the way the usually friendly man was pointedly ignoring him.

Then he reminded himself that it was exactly what he had asked for and jerked his gaze back to the descending floor numbers, glad for his own sunglasses hiding how he’d been staring.

He was jostled out of his thoughts as the elevator stopped by Charlie’s cheery voice, “It does seem silly to take separate cars when all of us will fit, doesn’t it?”

“We’re happy to share if you are!” Vaggie agreed, looking to him with an uncharacteristically exuberant smile. Alastor glared through his sunglasses but his mouth curled at the corners.

“The more the merrier.”

Angel Dust snorted, stepping off the elevator and crossing the lobby with ease despite the height of his heels, leaving the trio to follow behind after him.

The ride to the venue was just as awkward for Alastor, Angel Dust having opted for the front seat so Vaggie and Charlie could sit next to each other. He found his gaze drifting to the back of the other man’s head over the seat, fading in and out of the conversation happening next to him. He was quite relieved to exit the vehicle upon their arrival, barely waiting for the car to stop before opening the door.

“Dressing rooms won’t be ready for at least another hour or so,” Charlie hummed, typing at her phone as Vaggie fiddled with her own, navigating the venue with relaxed ease. “Angel, Nifty will be here around six for makeup, alright?”

He grunted noncommittally and she sighed.

“Don’t be like that, it’s not my fault you couldn’t have coffee this morning…”

“Yeah, yeah…” he sighed, slipping his phone into his pocket just in time for a blur of red to barrel out of nowhere and right into him, an arm wrapping around his neck in an excited clothesline of a hug as the pair stumbled.

“ _Bitch!”_

It was like a switch flipped, Angel Dust’s face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Ayyy! What’s up, Sugar Tits!” Despite the aggression of the greeting, Angel Dust disentangled himself just enough to loop his own arm around the would-be attacker’s waist, hoisting them up and into a bridal carry before spinning in a circle. Wild waves of strawberry blonde hair haloed a pale, beaming face dotted with freckles, cackling as Angel Dust pirouetted on his heels, her legs kicking excitedly. “I missed your stupid face!”

“I missed yours _more_!” she called excitedly before craning her head backwards and smiling wide at Charlie. “Blondie! How you been!”

Charlie laughed awkwardly, “I’ve been good, Cherri, how about you? Are the other dancers here already?”

“Who gives a shit about those extras, I was waiting on you assholes! What the fuck kept you ‘cause it sure as shit wasn’t your makeup. Look at them bags, those bitches are Gucci!”

“We had a meeting with management last night,” Charlie explained, and much to Alastor’s surprise the dancer’s jovial expression soured, her mouth curling into an angry pout.

“Yeah, okay.” Cherri wrapped an arm around Angel Dust’s waist as he set her down, leading him away. “You eat yet? I got an extra McMuffin and some hash browns with your name on ‘em, you skinny cunt.”

Angel Dust sighed theatrically as he pushed his sunglasses into his hair, “Fuckin’ yes _please_. Got any fuckin’ coffee?”

“Angel! Angel, you know Valentino said you can’t- … Angel!” Charlie sighed, letting her hand drop as the two disappeared behind the curtain to the backstage area. Glancing up, she caught Alastor and Vaggie giving her a curious look and laughed. “That’s Cherri. She’s Angel’s best friend and one of the backup dancers. I need to go see to the rehearsal but Husker should be around here somewhere and I know he’s expecting you.”

“We’ll find him,” Vaggie assured, motioning for her to go. The blonde beamed and darted off after her employer and Vaggie turned to Alastor expectantly. “You wanna tell me why he wouldn’t even look at you?”

“You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Sighing, Vaggie shook her head and turned back to her phone, buzzing away in her hand, “And you wonder why everyone thinks you’re a dickbag, _madre de dios_ … alright, let’s go find this tech guy so I can track down the band’s manager… then the dressing room situation, fuck why can’t anyone or anything just be where they need to be…”

Alastor eyed the aggressive way she swiped at her phone, biting her lower lip as she glared at the screen, muttering in a way he was quite familiar with. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find him myself. You must have dozens of other fires you need to put out before curtain call.”

Vaggie looked up, brow raising. “…Seriously?”

He held his hands out magnanimously, “Wouldn’t want everyone thinking I’m a dickbag.”

Snorting, the brunette finished sending off another message before looking at him critically. “I sent all the specs to these people over a week ago, so nothing should need to change. If it does, you tell me so I can _empujar mi bota por el culo_ , _comprende_?”

Tilting his head slightly, Alastor blinked and smiled. “Of course. I’ll see you soon enough for lunch and soundcheck.”

She looked as though she wanted to argue but her phone began to vibrate again and instead she snarled, answering it with a burst of aggressive Spanish that Alastor knew well enough meant bad things for whoever was on the other line.

Humming to himself, he cast a glance around the main stage area. He’d been shown a sketch of the stage set up, but it was impressive to see it coming together in real life. There was a long cat walk extending out into what he was sure would soon be a sea of concert goers but was now a gated off area taking up a good portion of the arena floor. The large digital screens that made up the back drop were dark for now, but he was sure they’d be bright enough to serve as daylight once the show began, a trio of platforms spread out in front of them across the stage. The largest one in the middle already bore a drum kit, the other two, much to Alastor’s distress, holding tall stripper poles extending high up above the scaffolding, a member of the tech crew working to secure one into place close to the ceiling.

Deciding the best place to look for the head of tech would be backstage and pointedly not fleeing confirmation of what he’d signed on for, he folded his arms behind his back and strolled through the drapes.

The backstage area was a far more familiar circus, abuzz with flurries of movement and shouts over headsets and equipment. Stage hands darted past, some carrying cables, others simply rushing to their next task, and Alastor took the moment to observe the chaos with half lidded eyes.

Ah, the entertainment of other people struggling.

Continuing his leisurely perusal, he deftly ducked a microphone stand as an inattentive staff member raced by, static laced shouting projecting from the walkie talkie on their hip. From the chatter around him, it sounded like the final touches were being set for Angel Dust’s rehearsal to begin and he rolled his eyes, wondering if it would still be possible to converse with the head of tech with noise cancelling headphones on.

He recognized the red head from earlier in a crowd of back up dancers, all wearing casual clothing and milling around the wings. The lights were suddenly dimmed, but even in the low lighting he could easily see that Angel Dust was not amongst the others though he paid it no mind – it wouldn’t be too strange for him to have his own special entrance onto the stage, especially for the opening number.

As he contemplated if he should simply ask someone to bring him to this Husker fellow, he noticed an increasingly familiar flash of blonde and brown leather out of the corner of his eye, seeing Angel Dust step behind a curtained off area too far from the stage for an entrance point.

Curiosity piqued, he surreptitiously stepped closer to take a peek, nudging the curtain aside just enough to glance through, blinking at the sight before him.

Angel Dust, arguing with a man Alastor didn’t recognize but was obviously not a member of the crew. The other man was tall, taller than Angel even with his heels, and dressed in a garish red Armani suit, the shirt underneath unbuttoned to his chest and bearing an equally eye straining heart pattern. He wore a pair of red and gold heart shaped sunglasses, the mirrored frames somehow trashy while Angel Dust’s similar pair read chic in comparison.

The argument was quickly becoming very one sided, voices hushed in an attempt to avoid attention, but the scarlet man practically loomed over the pop star. The condescending tilt of his smirk was obvious even from the distance Alastor was, as was the way Angel Dust began to shrink away from whatever was being said. He noted the casual way the other man put his hands on the singer, tilting his chin up to force eye contact, touching his hair, even going so far as to pull the iced coffee out of his hand as he continued his diatribe.

Surprisingly, despite the submissive retreat, Angel Dust didn’t seem upset by either the scolding or the overly friendly touching, smiling up at the other man and batting his lashes before turning to walk away.

“That’s right, get that ass on stage.”

There was a loud smack as a hand connected with Angel Dust’s ass, the singer flinching, fingers curling and jaw clenching for just a moment before he stalked forward, pausing only briefly as he pulled the drape aside and saw Alastor standing there. His expression soured even further, head ducking as he strode past. He bypassed the stairs, a member of the tech crew handing him a microphone and ushering him under the stage where Alastor assumed a ramp or raising platform would be waiting.

Alastor watched his retreat curiously, the sound of snickering pulling his attention back to the heart shaped gaze coming up behind him, the man pointedly sipping out of the half empty cup he’d taken.

“You must be Alastor, good to finally meet you.”

Alastor felt a shudder crawl up his back, as though something slimy had touched the nape of his neck, and resisted the urge to shiver. He plastered on a smile. “Oh?”

“Valentino. I’m Angel’s manager.”

Accepting the other man’s hand in a shake, Alastor raised a brow. “Ah, of course. Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I come on all of Angel Cake’s tours,” Valentino’s voice held a strange quality to it, an almost eerie sort of sleaze he’d expect more from a used car salesman. He was sure some would find it charming, Alastor just found it fake and fairly repugnant, especially after the scene he’d just witnessed and the forced saccharinity of the nickname. “I’m real hands on with his career.”

He remembered long, glittering fingers toying with a strand of blonde hair, another sliding under fringe to trace over his waist. “Are you, now.”

“He’s been talkin’ you up for a while, bet he’s thrilled to have you along with us,” the manager continued, his gold tooth flashing obnoxiously as he spoke – the same one Angel Dust had bejeweled if he wasn’t mistaken. The observation was offset by the sudden boom of bass, the music starting to play and the aggressive sound of dancing footsteps echoing from the stage, Valentino grinning at the wince Alastor was unable to disguise.“You plannin’ on stickin’ around to watch or do you got a moment to chat about the next few weeks? I got a few things I’d like to run by you.”

Alastor was glad for the excuse he already had, opening his mouth to voice it when a gruff baritone interrupted.

“You Alastor?”

The man’s salt and pepper hair was slicked back with sweat, thick sideburns fighting with his equally thick eyebrows for dominance over his face. His expression was sour, brow seemingly permanently creased by perpetual frowning, and his jaw already dusted with stubble despite the earliness of the day. His temple twitched with every beat pounding from the speakers and Alastor had never been more relieved to see a member of the tech crew.

“You must be Husker.”

The other man grunted his assent, turning a narrowed gaze in Valentino’s direction. The manager was suddenly in a much more dour mood, frowning behind his glasses. “You need somethin’?”

“Just enjoying the show,” Valentino practically simpered.

“Well do that from your box and get the fuck outta my way,” Husker growled before turning to Alastor. “You with me.”

Alastor smiled congenially, his standard plastered on polite expression. “Of course.” He gave a nod to Valentino, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Husker snorted, rolling his eyes and turning to walk away, obviously expecting Alastor to follow. Which, after rolling his own eyes, he did. The other man didn’t bother trying to speak as they navigated the maze of drapes and equipment, the muddled cacophony from the stage making any sort of real conversation impossible despite the fact Alastor knew it was at a fraction of the volume it would be in just a few hours, sliding out a door and into an even more crowded hallway. He grabbed a clipboard resting on a cart as they walked by, flipping a few pages before turning into an open door without looking.

“Your shit’s a lot easier than the kid’s,” he finally grunted, the sounds from the arena muffled slightly through the walls, but the bass still a loud thud as he dropped onto a folding chair. “No confetti cannons or lasers or whatever. The request we got was simple stage lighting, spotlight, pretty standard shit.”

“No bells and whistles for me, I’m afraid.” Alastor agreed congenially, giving the makeshift office a curious once over. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate the reprieve soon enough all things considered.”

Glancing up and scratching at his jaw, Husker raised one large eyebrow. “The simpler shit is, harder it is to hide a fuck up.” He let the pages fall back into place, tossing the clipboard onto the folding table he was using as a desk and crossing his arms. “This is my last chance to fix those fuck ups before the rest of this shit show starts so let’s make this quick so I can get back out there and put out the literal fires that’re gonna pop up durin’ the kid’s show.”

Alastor wasn’t sure if he was irritated by the other man’s unnecessary aggression or charmed by his no-nonsense attitude. Sliding into the free chair across from him and crossing his legs, he beamed.

“Well, I’d certainly hate to miss out on that!”

It took less than fifteen minutes and Alastor decided charmed was the right reaction. They reviewed each song and the specs that Vaggie had sent along. Husker had made a few tweaks to better suit the venue limitations and relayed them with a matter of fact tone of voice that brooked no argument and Alastor found he had no complaints.

He especially wasn’t complaining when Husker pulled a bottle of whiskey out from a cooler under the desk, popping the lid and pouring a healthy amount into a plastic cup before pouring a more reasonable finger sized serving for Alastor.

They sat in an amicable sort of silence for the next few minutes and, for Husker anyway, few drinks, until his walkie talkie burst to life with a buzz of static, calling him away. “Fuckers’d burn this place to the ground without me, fuckin’ swear,” he grumbled, throwing his drink back with the practiced ease of a raging alcoholic, replacing the much emptier bottle into its hiding space and rising to his feet.

Alastor followed suit, shooting back the remains of his glass, shaking his head as the burning alcohol hit his throat and remembering why he always nursed his drinks, but feeling much more confident in how his sound check would go.

“Dressin’ rooms are down this hallway, should be ready by now,” Husker commented, closing the door behind him and starting off in a random direction. Alastor followed, quick to realize the other man simply expected it, arms folded behind his back. “I’ll send someone for ya when it’s time to get on stage.”

“I expected as much.”

Snorting, the grizzled tech paused outside a door with Alastor’s name taped onto it, rapping his knuckles against it. “Blondie’s is right next door,” he jerked a thumb to the door a few feet away where Angel Dust’s name was plastered. “He’s a good kid, all things considered. I’ve worked with some real fuckin’ divas and he’s a walk in the park compared to those assholes. Still, if you ain’t into it, you shouldn’t hang around too late after the show’s over, shit gets weird in there.”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

Nodding absently, Husker scowled as his walkie burst to life again. “Jesus tap dancing Christ _what_?”

The last word was growled into the receiver pulled from his hip and he narrowed his eyes at the response feeding into his ear piece before rolling them.

“I’m fuckin’ comin’, keep your fuckin’ shirt on.”

That apparently served as his goodbye, the tech manager stomping off grumbling under his breath. Blinking slowly at the retreating back, Alastor sighed, letting himself into his dressing room and locking the door behind him. It was simple, a plush leather sofa against one long wall, a modestly sized television on the opposite. There was a door to his right leading to a bathroom, the sight of the shower stall a welcome one as he knew the tour bus would lack such facilities.

The thing that caught his eye, however, was a tall necked bottle sitting on the vanity table that took up the far wall. Woodford Reserve, his favorite bourbon.

He was used to gifts of this sort appearing in his dressing room as a gift from Rosie or Vaggie, a sort of congratulatory start to the festivities, but he could tell even from his current distance that the hand writing on the card matched neither of theirs. A few quick steps brought him within reach and pulled the card free, eyes scanning over the small message.

Sighing, he tossed it down.

Dickbag, wasn’t it? What Vaggie so eloquently called him?

_Welcome to the Addicted crew! Hope you don’t think your decision to come along was too whiskey.  
<3 Angel Dust_

There was a little swirl of a wing drawn next to his name, a surprisingly cute little thing that along with the pun had a smile crossing Alastor’s face before he could stop it.

Perhaps he had judged the other man too harshly after all.


	3. Chapter 3

“I got enough people tellin’ me what to do, Smiles, jus’ ‘cause you dress like you’re seventy don’t make you my fuckin’ dad!” Angel Dust snarled, stomping through the kitchenette and down the stairs out of the bus.

Alastor didn’t flinch at the sound of the door slamming, but did fall back onto one of the plush sofa seats with a sigh, rolling his head back with an irritated huff. Another day, another fight.

It had been two weeks of touring and while the bus was far more spacious than he was used to, it wasn’t nearly spacious enough. After the first hectic day of last minute adjustments and final stage rehearsals, neither performer was needed at the venue until nearly five for sound checks, leaving plenty of time for relaxation on the bus, or, if they were lucky, their hotel rooms. And while he would never outwardly complain about traveling on the bus between venues, there was certainly much to be sad about the solitude a hotel room provided.

The first night he thought they’d be fine. He’d returned after his opening set, a long shower in his dressing room helping to ease the discomfort of sweating under hot stage lights and the lukewarm reception his performance had received. He’d helped himself to a water from the, thankfully, fully stocked kitchenette and settled in to decompress for a few hours in the lounge area.

He’d made his way up to his bunk close to eleven, expecting to see his tour mate soon enough, unsurprised when he’d drunkenly stumbled in just shy of midnight, the bus already rumbling, Vaggie and Charlie right behind him.

Alastor had expected that behavior, planned for it, even. He knew Angel Dust’s reputation and had reveled in the notion that the pop star would most likely stay out late and sleep the day away until he was needed, that Alastor would have hours of solace and uninterrupted quiet.

He had been half right. While Angel Dust spent almost every evening out with the crew for the “after party” at a nearby bar or club, several times returning to the bus barely in time to avoid delaying their departure, he surprised Alastor by waking up at an arguably acceptable hour each day. Sometimes he was even up and about before Alastor himself was – though he was convinced on those occasions the pop star just didn’t sleep instead of actually waking up early.

Despite his carousing, Angel Dust never showed any signs of typical hangover symptoms, though he was obviously not much of a morning person. He spent many a morning bleary eyed and half dressed, stumbling through the tour bus to attend to his ablutions before slumping on what he’d claimed as “his side” of the bus in front of his laptop in nothing more than a ridiculously small part of pajama shorts and a scrap of fabric no normal person would ever deem to call a shirt, much to Alastor’s discomfort.

And though Angel Dust was not the worst tour mate Alastor had ever experienced, not by a long shot, neither that nor the olive branch of whiskey Angel had extended prevented the two of them from butting heads on a nearly daily basis.

Alastor had attempted extending an olive branch of his own and was successful in so much as Angel Dust would actually speak to him now. The responses were usually stilted or fairly monosyllabic no matter what Alastor started with, be it question or even the few compliments he’d made on the other man’s guitar skills, and he still somehow managed to trip the landmine that was Angel's ire without even knowing what actually set the other man off. Surprisingly, it seemed that the compliments seemed to be the biggest trigger, much to Alastor's confusion.

Because of that, the two had drawn an invisible line bisecting the leisure area and made sure to stay on their own sides in the hours they traveled together. Alastor was used to entertaining himself so it was no bother as Vaggie provided him all the books he needed, he had access to a wide variety of crossword puzzles and true crime podcasts should he wish to drown out his neighbor. Angel Dust split his time between playing video games, strumming at his guitar, or taking selfie after selfie to post on his social media before face timing his dancer friend as she traveled along in the bus behind him. While he had enough common courtesy to use headphones whenever possible, that courtesy did not extend to picking up after himself which had spawned today’s argument.

Make up, discarded clothing, and hair accessories littered every available surface of the tour bus, including the counter of the kitchenette, and scattered between were cans of _Sharp Tooth_ energy drinks. How Angel Dust had managed to continue squirreling them onto the bus despite Charlie’s vocal disapproval was a mystery, but Alastor suspected Cherri had something to do with it.

In any case, he was quite finished with not only listening to the lectures, but also having to deal with the litter around him.

“Angel, Valentino is-“ Charlie trailed off, looking around the bus in confusion, eyes landing on Angel Dust’s abandoned guitar. “Where is he?”

“He left a few minutes ago,” Alastor sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “I made the grievous error of asking him to pick up after himself and he took umbrage with that.”

Charlie winced. “Did he say where he was going?”

Waving a hand noncommittally, he huffed. “Off with his redhead friend again, I’d assume. That’s where he usually goes when he disappears.”

Sighing, Charlie stalked over to Angel’s tabletop, pushing aside two empty cans and a pile of eye shadow palettes to pick up his laptop and the cable, tucking them under her arm. “He probably won’t have a chance to come back to the bus before sound check, but if you see him, let him know I grabbed this for him, okay? I’ll make sure to send someone to clean up during the show, too.”

Alastor eyed her closely, especially the frown on her face. “You were saying Valentino was looking for him? He’s not in trouble is he? You did return rather late last night.”

Halfway turned to leave, Charlie froze before plastering on a wide smile. “Of course not! You know managers, always something they have to ask about!” She laughed and it was the most forced sound Alastor could remember hearing in recent time. “See you at sound check!”

She rushed away before he could respond, practically diving down the stairs and out of the bus.

Alastor waited until the door closed fully before pulling out his phone.

_Any thoughts on Angel Dust being called upon for a “meeting” with his manager for the third time this week? I have a few._

The response was quick, as usual.

_Don’t be rude._

He watched the screen for a moment, knowing that she would be messaging Charlie to get the dirt. While he wasn’t one to seek out gossip, there was something to be said for the amount of information Vaggie had access to just by spending her limited spare time with the other assistant.

_He’s not in trouble but I guess they have to review his tour diet? Someone must’ve said something about that sugary shit he keeps drinking._

_I’m surprised it’s not about how late he came to the bus last night. Almost delayed our departure. Again._

_Charlie was with him the whole time after the show yesterday. I’ll talk with her tonight and see if I can’t get anything else. You just make sure you’re ready to head to the venue for four._

Alastor didn’t dignify the request with a response, setting his phone down and humming thoughtfully. After a long moment, he shrugged and leaned over to pick up his discarded book, thankful that Rosie was far more hands off than Valentino seemed to be.

In both ways.

\--

Stepping off the stage to raucous applause was always a nice feeling, his reputation apparently finally getting traction, though Alastor knew it would be nothing compared to the roar of the crowd in just a few minutes. In fact, the audience was already rhythmically clapping in anticipation of the headliner, earning a roll of his eyes.

Looking for Vaggie, he caught sight of her chatting with Charlie and decided to leave her alone, slipping past the tech crew and out of the back stage area on his way to his dressing room. The urge to shower away the sweat from the stage lights was a siren call he could not ignore, though he made a valiant effort of resisting the desire to flutter the soaked fabric off his skin as he walked down the surprisingly vacant hallway.

Abstractly he knew staff would be more focused on changing out the instrument set up on the main stage, but the lack of security guards patrolling was a strange development.

“This is ridiculous! Gives me more work then kicks me out before I’m finished! The nerve!”

He recognized the high pitch voice as belonging to Nifty, Angel Dust’s makeup artist. She was a diminutive little thing, high energy and high impact – the first words out of her mouth upon meeting him being a critique of his outfit and hair. He was quite fond of her, truth be told, but the current tone of her voice raised his hackles. Alastor watched curiously as she stalked down the hallway away from him, her expression stormy and red curls bouncing with every aggravated step, gaze lifting back to what he recognized as being Angel Dust’s dressing room.

The door was slightly ajar and he took advantage of that fact to peer inside.

Angel was shrinking back, the glitter on his face and dark eye makeup shadowing his expression as his manager towered over him.

“C’mon, Vee, I still gotta set my makeup… it’s gonna sweat right off an’ I’ll look like I’m at a KISS themed drag show.”

Angel Dust’s voice was surprisingly small, a sort of forced humor to it to go along with the even more forced laugh at his joke. Valentino obviously wasn’t amused, gesturing to Angel Dust’s fishnet tights.

“The fuck did I say about these?”

The sleaze was gone, replaced with a sharp edge of steel that cut through the room and earned a wince from his client. Alastor almost found himself jerking back, he'd heard the manager scold Angel before but the tone was much harsher when not muffled through the layers of drywall separating their dressing rooms.

“Vee, these ones were a gift from Cherri, I don’t wanna-“

Valentino slammed a hand on the vanity table, Angel Dust flinching away, even Alastor jumping slightly in surprise. When Angel Dust didn’t speak again, long fingers curled around his jaw, squeezing tightly and forcing his eyes up. Alastor saw how Angel winced, his managers fingers digging into his cheeks much harder than necessary, but the star didn’t make a move to wriggle away.

After a long moment Angel Dust reached down, fingers lacing through the holes in his fishnets and tearing at them. A rhinestone went flying and Valentino smirked, nodding approvingly as the pop star ripped his own tights in several places.

“Good boy.” Valentino released Angel’s face, long fingers tracing up underneath the thin fabric of his shirt, pulling the pop star closer and a smirk crossing his face. “Look how much sexier that is, just how I like ya.”

It was a sight Alastor was far more familiar with, though he had previously only caught glimpses backstage or through the cracked door of Angel's dressing room, eager to escape and avoid being exposed to the debauchery. But this time as he began to step back from the door, he noticed the way Angel Dust turned his head to dodge the other man’s mouth, not fighting back verbally but his entire body screaming its displeasure at the action.

After barely a moment of consideration Alastor took a few steps back from the doorway and counted to three. “Angel Dust, they’re calling for- oh!” plastering on a congenial smile, he pushed the door open to see that Valentino had stepped back to a respectable distance, looking completely at ease and not at all as if he were just accosting his client a moment earlier.

Angel Dust, on the other hand, was more disheveled, his hair out of sorts, his jacket falling off one shoulder, and his makeup smudged from Valentino’s rough treatment. He was staring down at the floor, fingers pressed against a bare patch of skin left from a tear in his fishnets, not bothering to right his appearance. At any other time, Alastor would’ve assumed the disarray had been intentional, his solemn response thanks to his own presence especially considering their argument earlier in the day.

This time, however, Alastor’s hands clenched into fists but his smile stayed firmly in place.

“It’s just about time for your curtain call. Can’t keep the audience waiting!”

There was a beat and Alastor caught Angel Dust’s eyes flashing in Valentino’s direction before his usual carefree persona fell upon him, fingers ruffling his hair into an even more wild frenzy. The difference was jarring. “Well if there’s anythin’ worth waitin’ for, it’d be me!”

He stepped forward, halting as Valentino’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“We’re not done here. I’ll see you after, Angel Cakes.”

The pop star took a shuddering breath, nodding firmly, not moving until the hand on his shoulder was lifted away. He avoided looking at Alastor, barreling past and disappearing through the door and into the hallway.

“We’ve been gettin’ good reviews about your performance,” the manager smirked, tone dripping with the sort of simpering affectation he’d come to expect from the other man. “Everyone’s real thrilled with how it’s been goin’ so far.”

Alastor stared at him for a long moment before smiling in turn. Valentino didn’t suspect that he’d witnessed their altercation. “It’s been quite the experience so far, I look forward to the rest of the tour.”

Valentino’s smile stretched wider. “Been hopin’ to talk to you about that. You got some time to meet with me? I’ve got a few things I’d like to run by you.”

Alastor’s excuses for dodging the manager had been running thin, having been asked the same question countless times during the past few weeks. He held his hands out in a mock of a shrug. “My apologies but I am in dire need of a shower and have a meeting with my team scheduled. Perhaps another time?”

Valentino’s smile stiffened at the corners, obviously expecting to be snubbed but still not pleased. Pulling out a business card from a pocket on the inside of his jacket, he held it out between two fingers. “Of course. Whenever’s convenient.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment as Alastor took hold of the business card, the manager’s expression disguised by the mirrored frames, though he could sense the irritation radiating off of him. After what felt like an eternity, Valentino relinquished the card, gold tooth gleaming as his smile returned.

“Suppose I should head to my suite, lest Husker come and scold me again.”

The obvious attempt at levity did little but force a polite upturn of Alastor’s lips. Nodding, the jazz singer stepped out into the hallway, watching Valentino pass and taking a few measured steps in the direction of his own dressing room until the footfalls of the other man faded away. He waited another five minutes to be sure before starting back down the hall himself.

\--

Charlie and Vaggie were still huddled together when Alastor reappeared backstage, the thrum of the bass pushing their hushed conversation closer, their body language screaming out an intimacy Alastor had seen coming since the day the two met. He almost felt guilty interrupting them.

“My apologies,” he said as congenially as possible, the two separating as though caught making out instead of just chatting, Vaggie’s expression positively murderous as she turned her attention to her client, “but I’ve misplaced my phone. Vaggie, if you would be so kind as to locate it for me?”

“Are you serious!” She scowled, looking at him incredulously. He gave her a pointed look before looking at Charlie and back to her just as pointedly. She narrowed her gaze, lips pursed before releasing an aggravated sigh. “Sure. Why not.” She looked back at Charlie, “Still free for dinner after?”

“Absolutely.” Charlie beamed, nodding happily. Vaggie smiled in response, pulling her phone out and growling in Alastor’s direction as she walked away. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Alastor cleared his throat, leaning close enough to whisper.

“As much as it pains me to interrupt, I’m afraid I’ve witnessed something and I can’t in good conscience keep it to myself.”

Charlie tensed before nodding decisively. “Come with me.”

It took only a few minutes to slip away down a now familiar hallway and past the still slightly ajar door of Angel’s dressing room into Alastor’s. Charlie kept a cheery smile on her face, nodding to the few staff members they passed, but the second the door closed behind her the smile fell and her expression turned somber.

“Tell me what you saw.”

Alastor searched her face for a long moment, “Something tells me you know what I saw.”

She sighed heavily, tugging on her hair awkwardly. “Look, if I could stop it, I would… I’ve… I’ve talked to him, and so has Cherri and… and Nifty and… and everyone but it’s been going on since before I came along. Whenever we talk to Angel he just denies that anything’s wrong and won’t let us help him and the last person that went to the execs got fired and black listed from the industry.”

Charlie’s eyes were welling up with frustrated tears and Alastor found himself scowling. That had been his next idea. “The executives are aware?”

“We don’t have any proof,” Charlie admitted. “It’s our word against Valentino’s and he’s been with the company for so long… even if Angel himself reported it I don’t think they’d do anything. It’s not against policy for a manager and a client to… and Angel says it’s consensual but I know it’s just because he thinks he can’t say no.”

“The… _emergency meetings_ …?“ he trailed off expectantly, already knowing the answer.

The tears finally spilled and Charlie nodded, a hand over her mouth. Alastor felt bile rise to the back of his throat at the confirmation.

“Back when I started it was only once in a while and Angel didn't seem against it but he’s gotten more aggressive over time. Especially after Angel… we thought after rehab it’d be better, that maybe he’d start saying no and he’d back off… but it’s just gotten worse now. He’s not even trying to hide it anymore! Nifty had to-“

She cut herself off and Alastor frowned, trying to recall the exact words of the makeup artist’s earlier outburst. “Had to what?”

Giving another shuddering breath, she straightened, trying to school her expression despite the tear tracks down her cheeks. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Charlie…”

“Alastor, I appreciate your concern but with all due respect you have no idea what is going on so I need to ask you to… to mind your own business and let us deal with it, alright?”

Alastor stared at her for a long moment, her expression was stern and though he wanted to argue he simply nodded. “Of course. My apologies.”

She visibly relaxed, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you.” She swallowed, nodding decisively. “You won’t tell anyone else, of course. Obviously we’ve kept this under wraps best we could, but I don’t want anyone getting in trouble… well…” she sighed, “anyone that shouldn’t anyway.”

“Understood.”

Nodding again, she plastered on a smile. “I better get back out there, don’t want to miss his pole routine!”

Alastor watched her go, waiting for the door to shut before pulling the business card out of his pocket.

He had a meeting to set up.


	4. Chapter 4

“ _Al_ , come on in.”

Ignoring the nickname and the two large, suited men on either side of the door, Alastor let Valentino lead him across the luxury suite to a plush sofa. Alastor perched himself on the edge of his seat, shaking his head at the offer of liquor and glancing out the large window overlooking the still rumbling crowd as the manager poured himself a drink. Angel Dust was strutting down the cat walk as he sang – the sound muting as Valentino lowered the volume on the speakers but the thrum of the bass still vibrating softly as the lights of the concert flashed.

“Glad you changed your mind, almost thought you were avoidin’ me,” Valentino grinned, gold tooth gleaming. “Higher ups been real happy with your performance so far,” he tilted his glass, “ _real_ happy. Your CD sales are up, I’m hearin’.”

“So Rosie has told me,” despite the desire to speak curtly, Alastor’s sense of pride kept the polite, congenial tone to his voice as he turned away from the window. He eyed the manager as he sipped at his drink, resisting the urge to glower now that he was more aware of the other man’s true character.

“It’s a good look, that kinda improvement. Bet you’re real happy ‘bout it, too.”

“Always nice to be recognized for one’s hard word.”

Valentino lit up a cigar, puffing on it a few times despite the numerous signs Alastor had noted that the suite was smoke free. He chose not to comment, even as the cloud began to drift over their heads.

“Pleasantries aside, let’s get t’business,” the other man blew an obnoxious smoke ring. “We noticed you and Angel Cakes ain’t been hangin’ out too much.”

Alastor raised a brow. Not what he had been expecting. “We spend several hours on a tour bus together almost every day.”

Valentino waved his hand dismissively, “You know what I mean. Quality time, male bondin’, that kinda stuff. The label really likes to promote that kinda camaraderie on tours.”

_I’ll bet_ Alastor thought to himself. “I was unaware you kept tabs on that sort of thing.”

“Angie says you two ain’t been gettin’ on so well.”

“We’ve had a few tiffs, of course, but that’s to be expected while cohabitating, nothing egregious. Certainly nothing to draw negative attention if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

“Fuck I fuckin’ wish,” Valentino shook his head, taking a sip of bourbon before replacing his cigar, Alastor blinking slowly, even more confused. “One’a you throwin’ a punch would be better than this five foot apart at all times, polite conversation when forced bullshit that’s been goin’ on since we started… but, nah, higher ups don’t want fightin’ this time. Tried to swing that angle after that first night but no dice.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Valentino puffed obnoxiously, the cloud of smoke thickening around him, “Ever since he got outta rehab, he’s been on good behavior. Press ain’t said shit about him in weeks that ain’t about the tour… higher ups wanna shake things up a little. We were hopin’ you’d spend some more _quality time_ with Angel Cakes. Y’know, stir the pot a little, get the gossip rags goin’.”

Alastor regarded him expectantly, brain racing a mile a minute as he tried to translate Valentino’s words into something that made sense and coming up short.

“We’ll reward you, ‘course, we ain’t stupid,” Valentino continued, heedless to Alastor’s consternation. “You scratch our back, we scratch yours, y’dig?”

“You’ll reward me… for being around Angel Dust?”

Valentino ignored the question, “The important thing’s not to give the game away. Angie’s delicate, real wiltin’ flower type, y’know? Gotta convince him you’re on the level to get any decent results outta him– nonna that one-night stand fling bullshit he's been pullin' recently. You gotta get him _invested_. You can think of it as hirin’ an escort if that helps. One that pays you ‘steada the other way around.”

Alastor finally realized what the other man was implying. “You want me to fake a relationship with Angel Dust.”

Valentino shrugged, tapping ash into a waiting dish on the table. “To him and the mags it won’t be fake.”

Brow knitting up, Alastor resisted the urge to scowl, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair as though he was contemplating the offer instead of internally fuming at the implication of his own character. “How long would I need to continue the farce?”

Another shrug, “At least a few months after the tour is over, then we can stage a break up however you like. He always spits out an album after a good break up. Fuck, last one hit the charts _runnin_ ’, every single hit number one. If you can get us that kinda result you won’t have to worry much about your future in the industry, I can tell you that much.”

“You’ve done this before, then.”

Valentino cackled, “Oh hell yeah, you think that useless slut attracts big names like Vox all on his own? Nah, they play along and we start increasin’ radio play, maybe rub elbows with a few award shows, y’feel?” He snickered, shaking his head. “I’m surprised that stupid slut remembers to breathe half the time, you think he can keep a guy around for more than a good screw? You’ve met him!”

Alastor counted backwards from ten as Valentino began cackling.

“Shit, I should give you a look at his contract. Only rider the dipshit asked for was picking his own dancers, he let me get away with giving him a three percent royalty. Nah, that empty fuckin’ head of his is only good for the mouth on it… and not just for singin’, that I can personally assure you. Shit, only benefit to you givin' me the cold shoulder all this time is I got a few more chances to fuck him myself.”

Alastor felt his eye twitch but maintained his composure. “So, should I engage in this deception, what would I get in return? I can’t imagine someone of my standing would get you the results of… Vox, was it? The last one?”

“Don’t think anyone’s gonna get us the results Vox did for a coupla years, fucker did a bang up job. Nah, nah, just keep him in the papers and we’ll keep you taken care of. Promote your music a bit, maybe get a platinum on that latest album you put out. Real easy to fudge those numbers after a tour. We can work out the details with your manager, maybe even renegotiate after we see what kinda results we get outta you.”

Valentino poured himself another drink and Alastor glanced back out the window. Angel Dust stood at the end of the catwalk under a spotlight, the rest of the set lights twinkling like a sky full of stars around him, his appearance blown up on the screens behind him. Alastor could see the intensity of his expression, eyes closed as he belted out the lyrics, head thrown back and hair a wild, sweaty halo around him, and though the sound was still muted he could vaguely remember the track from sound check.

_And you’re sayin’ all the things that you’re supposta, but you don’t know how to love me when you’re sober_

“Thank you for the offer, Valentino, however I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse.”

“Great, I’ll contact your manager and have a contract drafted-“ Valentino stopped, the cigar falling limp between his lips before his teeth clenched. “The fuck you just say?”

Alastor unfolded himself, rising from his chair and straightening his shirt cuff absently. “I barely tolerate Angel Dust when he's pointedly ignoring me, the fact that you think I have any interest in inviting his attention is laughable. I've taken great care to stay out of the tabloids and I certainly won't be diving head first into them for something like this. You’ll have to get your publicity some other way.”

Scowling, Valentino set his cigar in his ash tray. “That your final answer?”

Staring the other man down, Alastor raised his chin defiantly. “Is there anything else or am I free to leave? There’s a long drive ahead of me for the next venue and I’d like to see the inside of the tour bus before it starts moving.”

When he received no answer, he turned and strolled out of the suite, closing the door behind him. The two burly men standing guard outside watched him carefully as he walked down the hallway and the moment he was sure he was out of view, he let out an angry breath through his nose.

Without the sound proofing, the thrum of the bass was a heartbeat as he walked, the muffled sound of the crowd a buzz of static to match the roaring of his blood in his ears. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his cell phone, wincing at the dozens of notifications from Vaggie lighting up his home screen.

Scrolling past the numerous vicious text messages, he began typing.

_I need a favor._

_I knew you had your fucking phone you piece of shit. You owe me one hell of an explanation._

A long pause and Alastor could picture Vaggie’s scowling face as she typed.

_What kind of favor?_

_I need to speak with Angel Dust tonight about his manager. Any chance of keeping him sober before he returns to the bus?_

A long pause, the trio of dots appearing and disappearing before a new message finally popped up from a number he didn’t recognize but assumed belonged to Charlie.

_No promises._

\--

Alastor waited in the tour bus, the hours passing slower than usual. He checked his phone often, no new messages or alerts appearing, and allowed his attention to drift between his novel and the large television hanging from the wall where he’d started some random program for background noise. 

As their departure time crept ever closer, Alastor even considered pilfering one of the man’s disgusting energy drinks to stay awake, his contemplation interrupted by the door opening.

He glanced at his phone, the display ticking half past midnight as Vaggie and Charlie piled onto the bus, the sound of clicking heels and snorting laughter notably absent as the door shut behind them. His brow knit up in confusion, only increased by the sound of the bus engine starting.

“Angel Dust isn’t-“

“He won’t be on the bus tonight. He’s meeting us at the hotel tomorrow.” Charlie’s tone was peppy as usual but the look she gave from across the bus told Alastor exactly where the pop star currently was.

And who he was with.

He grit his teeth.

“You’ll just have to talk to him tomorrow,” Vaggie huffed, walking up the stairs to the bunks. “Hopefully he won’t be too hungover to perform.”

“He’ll be fine! He knows how to take care of himself!” Charlie chimed, her voice deceptively saccharine as she gave Alastor a knowing look before following.

The shuffling of feet up stairs and the muffled conversation became background noise as Alastor considered his next move.

\--

The moment the bus stopped at the hotel, Alastor was on his feet and out the door, Vaggie following behind, struggling to keep up with his long, determined strides.

“Chill out, will you? Your room will still be there in ten minutes.”

Alastor looked around the parking area, catching sight of the bus that transported Angel’s back up dancers as well as the one that transported the musicians. He knew the tech crew would already be at the venue, their sleeper coaches bypassing the hotel in its entirety, but a certain tacky red limousine was conspicuously absent from the cavalcade.

“Valentino isn’t here.”

_Angel Dust isn’t here._

Vaggie blinked, looking around curiously. “Guess not. Must’ve gone straight to the venue for some reason...” Shrugging, she started walking into the hotel, “That guy’s a fuckin’ weirdo, don’t know how the crew stands having him looming around all the time.”

Following along, Alastor continued to glance across the lobby as Vaggie checked them in, casting a look over his shoulder as they made their way into the elevator. He let himself be led up to his room, Vaggie commenting that his main luggage would be brought up after she had a chance to use the launderette in the hotel.

“You have a spare set in here so you should take a shower and relax. I’m taking your other three suits to the dry cleaners so you better not have left anything in the pockets this time. I’ll come get you around four to head over to the venue.”

“Any chance I could head over sooner?”

She paused, eyeing him carefully. “Sooner?”

He tried to keep his expression neutral and knew he was failing spectacularly. “If possible.”

“You want to go to the venue early. You. Mister I-hate-other-human-beings-and-want-to-live-in-the-woods-with-alligators?”

“Alligators don’t live in the woods.”

“ _No seas sabelotodo_ ,” she narrowed her eyes, arms folding across her chest. She looked him up and down, tapping a finger in dire need of a new manicure against her bicep. “It’s Angel Dust. You didn’t get a chance to talk to him last night after meeting with his manager... what the fuck could he have said that's important enough to drag you to the venue early? Does it have something to do with your stupid lost phone and why you had to talk to Charlie? She wouldn't tell me what it was about."

For once Alastor hated how astute she was. “Guilty as charged. We had a bit of a squabble yesterday and Angel was more upset than usual. Valentino wanted me to clear the air... I asked Charlie for help but she thought it best for me to speak with him directly. Can't allow this sort of negativity to fester, you know."

“You fuckers fight every day, I'm sure he'll get over it.”

He didn’t respond, gesturing vaguely.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Can’t it wait? I doubt he’s even there yet. Charlie's probably going to find him hungover in a puddle of whatever the fuck he got up to last night.”

Alastor resisted the urge to wince. If only she knew.

“I’d feel more at ease if it was settled before my performance tonight.”

“Fucking diva,” she shook her head but a fond smile crossed her face as she retrieved her phone. “Take a shower first, I’ll have a car here in half an hour.”

\--

As soon as Alastor stepped backstage he realized the folly of his plans. Like most of their venues, the arena was quite large with many places that he wouldn’t have easy access to. There was also the very real possibility that Angel wasn't here at all and he’d simply foregone his hours of relaxation in his hotel room on a hunch that wouldn’t pan out.

Maybe one of the staff members had seen him…

“The fuck you doin’ here? Sound check ain’t for hours.”

Alastor would never admit that the gruff voice caused him to jump a bit, and he attempted to disguise his startled reaction by adjusting his suspenders. He’d failed, based on Husker’s amused smirk, but he smiled regardless.

“Husker, my dear fellow! I was looking for Angel Dust. He missed the bus last night and his assistant tells me he has yet to check into his hotel room. Have you seen him?”

The head of tech’s jovial expression immediately soured. “He missed the bus?”

The words were carefully spoken and by the way his eyes had hardened Alastor knew the other man didn’t suspect drunken debauchery to be the cause. Alastor kept his easy smile, but lowered his voice, guessing by the way Husker glanced around that the walls had ears. “Charlie returned rather late last night. A little red bird told her he wouldn’t be making the bus and to head off without him.”

Eyes narrowing, Husker pulled his walkie talkie off his hip. “I’m takin’ a break, don’t fuckin’ bother me unless the building’s on fire.”

Turning the dial, the resulting burst of panicked responses died with a click, and, as Alastor had learned to anticipate, Husker started walking away expecting him to follow.

He led him through the winding hallways to his current make shift office. The usual folding table had been replaced with a decent desk this time around and the man sank into the plush office chair with a grunt. Alastor took his seat with more grace, but knew his expression was grim.

“What happened yesterday. Everything, even the dumb shit.”

Alastor eyed him carefully before recounting everything he could remember of his morning with Angel Dust and the argument that had ensued. How Charlie had called upon him for another “meeting” with Valentino, the confrontation he’d witnessed in the dressing room.

Husker tapped his finger on the table top before reaching into a drawer and pulling out a fresh bottle of liquor. Alastor resisted the urge to grimace at the label, knowing it would go down like turpentine, but accepted his plastic cup nonetheless.

“Alright, sounds shitty… but nothin’ that’d set him off. Ain’t the first time someone’s interrupted him durin’ somethin’ like that but he always makes sure Angel gets back to the bus. Appearances an' all that shit.”

Alastor’s grip on the cup tightened and he only relaxed it when the plastic began to loudly crinkle in his hand. “There is… one more thing that happened.”

Husker, cup to his mouth, narrowed his gaze over the rim. “Yeah?”

“I finally acquiesced to his request to meet with me.”

It was Husker’s cup’s turn to crinkle, his thick fingers gripping the plastic tightly. “Yeah?”

“How much do you know about Valentino’s involvement with Vox?”

Husker cursed, the expletive heavy with emotion as he tossed back the rest of his drink and eschewed refilling the glass to instead pull straight from the bottle. “That no good lousy sonofa-“ Husker’s ire turned to him, eyes blazing, “He asked you?”

“He made an offer,” Alastor countered, insulted at the accusatory tone but relieved the other man seemed just as outraged by what had been going on as he had been. “I turned him down, of course, I want no part in any of this mess and told him as much.”

“Yeah, well, you are now, chief, so get used to it.” Sighing, the head of tech scrubbed a hand through his sweaty hair, several strands sticking out at strange angles as a result. “That definitely woulda set him off...” Alastor must’ve looked confused because the other man huffed. “Valentino peg you as the sorta guy who takes a no with any sorta grace? No shit he took some ‘ _private time_ ’ with his favorite punching bag after that, not like he can do anything to you. Not this early in the tour, anyway.”

Alastor felt nauseas at the thought. “What happens now?”

Husker sighed again, raising the bottle to his lips and taking several long pulls, the bottle much emptier when he set it down again. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, he rose from his seat.

On any other day, Alastor would have been impressed to see the other man not so much as swaying after that much rotgut, but today the observation was hollow.

“He’ll be here for sound check,” Husker said with the surety of experience. “They'll have him on a tight leash, won't wanna risk you blabbin' but with how you two can't stand each other I doubt it's a real concern for long. He's a tough kid so he'll put on a good show an' no one'll suspect a damn thing about what happened yesterday. Everyone who knows will look the other way because they’re afraid to lose their job or already on that scumbag’s payroll.”

He looked down at Alastor and the singer felt a weight rest on him, the events of the last days piling on top of one another and pulling at him uncomfortably.

“What can we do?”

The question was mostly rhetorical. The people closest to Angel had managed little in their time with him, the thought that he could do anything after barely two weeks in his presence was laughable, especially with his precarious position at the label being what it was. Husker most likely had firmer job security than he did at this point.

“We intervene when we can and pick him back up when we can’t,” Husker replied solemnly. “Do you really think most of the crew _wants_ to be out all night partying after a long day of work? They go because the more people around him, the less likely that scumbag can get close without raising a few eyebrows. And sometimes he still shows up late to the party.”

Alastor’s fists clenched at the insinuation.

“Other than that…” Husk huffed, shaking his head as his shoulders slumped. “You can hang out here if you want, dressin’ rooms won’t be ready for at least a coupla hours since you ain’t supposed to be here yet. There’s another bottle in the desk, help yourself.”

The meaning behind that was clear and Alastor gave a nod of acknowledgement as Husker slipped out the door.

He really should have liquidated his assets and bought that bookshop when he had the chance.

\--

The hours creeped by, sound check passing in a blur. He’d caught a glimpse of Angel Dust being ushered under the stage for his own sound check as he stepped off, but despite his best efforts he found no opportunity to speak with the other man before taking the stage himself.

True to Husker’s words, the show went on. To the unknowing observer, there was nothing amiss. Angel’s smile was wide, his voice clear, his dance moves solid. A consummate professional.

Vaggie, ever dutiful, had ferried him to the hotel after his shower, leaving him to pace his room until he knew the concert was over. He recalled Charlie mentioning that on the nights they were lucky enough to be in a hotel the crew would congregate the bar before moving onto the next venue. He also recalled her mentioning that on such occasions Angel Dust would return to his hotel room to primp before making his appearance, meaning he was sure to stop there before disappearing into drunken revelry.

_If he was returning at all_ a small voice in the back of his head whispered.

He waited another twenty minutes before making his way to the elevator. Vaggie had secured him the room number with ease and, as he stared at the slowly rising numbers, he wondered just why he was going to so much effort to speak to Angel Dust. 

He supposed it was pity. Alastor felt sorry for the poor, naive singer whose strings were being pulled without his knowledge. That he allowed himself to manipulated in such a way by his manager, allowed himself to be abused with such vile machinations happening behind the scenes on top of the brutalities he already experienced. On the whole Alastor found the entire situation distasteful - he'd always disapproved of those in power using it to abuse those below them, though he usually would turn a blind eye when he could so as to not stir up drama in his own life. But in this scenario, he'd have to face Angel Dust every day and it would be much harder to ignore what he knew or keep quiet about it.

Though he wasn't quite sure what he hoped to achieve by telling him. There was the chance that the pop star would just quietly accept it as he seemingly did the rest of Valentino's behavior, though there was a much higher chance that he'd instead fly into a rage and confront his manager. It was a distinct possibility that this conversation could result in a glittery nuclear bomb annihilating their tour two weeks in.

As the elevator door opened, Alastor cursed himself for finally developing a conscience and before he could talk himself out of it rapped his knuckled against the door to Angel's suite.

Only to receive no answer.

Listening closely he heard no movement from inside, not even the sound of the television. He waited a minute and knocked again.

Resisting the urge to groan in aggravation, he fished his phone out of his pocket and began to type a message to Vaggie.

_Angel Dust isn’t in his hotel room. Has he left the venue already?_

A long pause followed by three small dots. They flickered for almost a minute before disappearing. Alastor’s brow knit up, about to start typing again when Charlie messaged him.

_He’s okay. He’s alone._

The relief Alastor felt was a surprise, but short lived as the next message popped on screen.

_You should leave him alone. He’ll be back on the bus tomorrow night._

He replied before he could stop himself.

_Please._

Another long pause. Dots appearing and disappearing in bursts.

_Check the pool_.

\--

The rooftop pool had been closed for hours, though Alastor knew that sort of thing had little effect on most pop stars. The elevator ride was quick, Angel Dust’s room already located on one of the highest floors of the hotel, and, as he crossed the threshold, he could see the door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. There was a brick holding it open and he could hear what sounded like… big band stand music playing?

_“Mama said don’t give up, 'cause it’s a little complicated… all tied up, no more love… and I’d hate to see you waiting…”_

Slipping through the door, his eyes scanned the darkened pool deck. Even with the bright lights of the city skyline around him, Alastor had to let his eyes adjust to the dim shadows, the low lights next to the surface of the pool casting a glow around the water and the surface refracting and reflecting small ripples across the concrete of the pool deck. His gaze finally found Angel Dust, tucked onto a pool chair, his boots abandoned with wet foot prints leading from the water to where he sat cross legged in front of his laptop. His back was to the door, the laptop’s tiny speakers pushing out the obviously digitized instruments, but the vocals were entirely live.

“ _They say it’s all been done but they haven’t seen the best of me… so I got one more run and it’s gonna be a sight to see…”_

Without the autotune or the cacophony of outside interference during his concerts, Angel Dust’s voice carried a subtlety to it that Alastor had never noticed before. It was a rich tenor, just the right amount of grit while staying bright and resonant, and so distracting that it took him until the last few bars to recognize the lyrics and the song itself.

And all of a sudden, the vague irritation that had been simmering had a new target.

“What was _that_!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs featured are "Sober" by Selena Gomez and "High Hopes" as covered by Dennis Van Aarssen.


	5. Chapter 5

“What was _that_!?”

Angel startled, almost falling off of the chair as he twisted, expression screwing up into a scowl when he caught sight of Alastor. “It’s called a fuckin’ dry run, asshole. Sorry we don’t all channel the Rat Pack from the get go! The fuck you even doin’ out here, huh?”

“The _song_ you imbecile! Why didn’t you tell me you made _good_ music?”

“Oh fuck you with a toaster.” Angel growled, standing up and moving towards his boots, obviously eager to leave.

Alastor barreled forward, stepping in between him and his target, vaguely noting that the other man was not only still in his performance clothes but hadn’t even bothered to clean off his stage make up, the glitter sparking in the dull light from the pool. “Is it laziness? Is that it? You wanted an easy ride so you chose the lowest denominator for the masses? Your entire career of autotuned monstrosities and you can sing like _that_?!”

“Oh get fucked! You don’t have a damn clue about me or my music!” Angel Dust met him head on, teeth bared in a snarl. “You’ve got real fuckin’ balls to come here and shit all over everything I’ve done as if I’m not the one to thank that you’re on this tour at all!”

He tried to push past but Alastor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “ _I’ve_ got balls? When you’ve let me spend weeks nattering on about you and your career and you knew the whole time. You knew you were actually talented behind all that machinery and flash, and you let me go on thinking you were some air headed dimwit with no knowledge of real music! How _dare_ you?”

Angel Dust reeled back as if he’d been struck, blinking in confusion. “What?”

Alastor gestured towards the laptop, the composition software still open but silent. “That song. It’s one of the ones on your set list, but it’s a completely different arrangement. You did that?”

“It’s _my_ fuckin’ song…?”

He gave another aggravated gesture at the computer. “You composed an entirely new arrangement, changing the base _genre,_ all on your own.”

“…Yeah?” Angel Dust shook his head. “The fuck is your damage? I wrote the original, no shit I can rearrange it. You’re mad that I’m good at music? I’m a fuckin’ award winning song writer, jackass, you shouldn’t be surprised. You really think I’m that fuckin’ stupid?”

“Yes!” Alastor growled before pausing and letting out an aggravated groan. “No, I… I just… I didn’t think…”

Angel Dust scowled, “The fuck you want then? ‘Cause if you tracked me down just to keep shittin’ on me I’m gonna drown you in this fuckin’ pool.”

Alastor slumped slightly, staring at Angel Dust as if he’d never seen him before. “I need you to explain to me why you do what you do… when you could be doing that instead.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Angel Dust asked, running a hand through his bangs and letting them fall back into his face irritably with a puff of displaced glitter. “You’re all fuckin’ worked up because I sing pop? Bitch, you need to get out more.”

“I want to understand.” Alastor implored and, after a long moment, Angel Dust sighed, rolling his eyes. He took a few steps and sat down on the edge of the pool, plunging his feet into the water with a loud splash and patting the space next to him. Alastor looked at the dampened ground distastefully.

“I ain’t talkin’ up atcha, sit down.”

Sighing, he lowered himself next to Angel Dust, pointedly crossing his legs yet mindful not to move too much and risk abrading his trousers against the rough surface. Grimacing as he felt moisture began to soak into the fabric, he waited a moment before gesturing for Angel Dust to begin.

Angel Dust snorted, rolling his eyes again.

“Why do you do what you do?”

Alastor blinked, surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah, you wanna dig deep into my sad backstory, we’re goin’ tit for tat, Smiles. You look like you should be an English teacher, what got you behind a mic?”

Straightening slightly, Alastor cleared his throat. “I was in the radio business. It was an easy jump.”

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow expectantly but Alastor stayed silent. “And I like to sing so I became a singer. If that’s all we got-“

“No! No… I…” Alastor reached a hand out as Angel Dust moved to stand up, sighing as he retracted it. “I didn’t have many prospects where I was from but I enjoyed listening to the radio.”

“An’ you wanted to make music for the radio?”

“Heavens no,” he shook his head. “I listened for the hosts. You could hear the same music anywhere, but the hosts were the true personality of a radio station. I was lucky enough to get a job at a small station near my home town… but I had no control over what was played or even what I was allowed to say. I’d have to read off these scripts of empty praise between songs I couldn’t stand to listen to and every year it felt like the music we played got worse and worse… eventually I just stopped speaking much at all. The music would just play on an endless loop and all I needed to do was press a button for the recorded ads to play at the right times… I spent most of my shifts reading and listening to music I actually enjoyed in the booth.”

Angel Dust's eyebrow quirked in surprise, “You’re a fuckin’ _slacker_? You?”

Alastor cleared his throat, absently tugging on his sleeve. “Yes, well… I managed to get away with it for a year or so before my manager happened to be making a visit of the studio. She caught me singing along to a Sinatra record and apparently liked what she heard enough to offer me an opportunity to make the music I appreciated. Considering my boss was less than pleased to learn what he’d been paying me to do, I found myself in immediate need of employment if not just to pay my rent for the next few months. I had no real experience making music but she seemed confident my voice would make up for that.”

“Makes sense, your first two records were nothin’ but covers.”

Alastor bristled at the dismissive tone, “Those covers got me nominated for a Grammy.”

“Nominated sure as shit ain’t winnin’,” Angel Dust snarked back.

“My more recent albums have plenty of original songs on them!”

“An’ I’m sure all the wine moms who bought ‘em really appreciated the effort of your writing team.”

“Now see here-“

“Ain’t much fun, is it? Havin’ someone shit on your career for no good reason?”

Alastor’s mouth snapped shut and he shrank back, brow knitting up. He swallowed, attempting to push down his pride, but Angel Dust took pity, leaning back on his palms and rolling his head back to look up at the blackened sky, the light pollution of the city drowning out the stars.

“Your turn, Smiles. What’d you wanna know first?”

Considering his words carefully, Alastor bypassed the obvious as he decided on the first thing he wanted to know. “You write your own music?”

“My name on the credits didn’t give it away?”

Alastor shook his head, “Do you know how many artists get a writing credit because they changed a single word on a track? Most of them don’t even know how to hold a guitar let alone play it…” He glanced at the laptop still sitting on the table. “But you… you must know how to play quite a few instruments if you’re able to compose arrangements like that on your own.”

Angel Dust shrugged, “You know I can play guitar… I hope.” He gave Alastor a pointed look before sighing. “Accordion and piano are the other big ones for me. I’m passable at trumpet and trombone and I can fake my way with the clarinet and saxophone but don’t like ‘em that much ‘cause the reeds leave a weird taste in my mouth. Tried violin, couldn’t get my head around it, but my sister plays it pretty well so when I need to I ask her for help.”

Alastor boggled, “That many? I can only play the piano.”

“My ma could play way more than that, it ain’t that impressive. She taught all us kids instruments, but I’m the only one who really took to it.”

“And pop music was your focus?”

Angel Dust shook his head irritably. “Why you gotta say it like that? Like it’s rat poison. Pop music has its place just like every other type of music, shit, it stands for _popular_. Which my music is, thank you. Multi platinum every album. Someone here has actually _won_ a Grammy and I’m pretty sure it ain’t you.”

Alastor barely held back a wince. “But you also like vintage music if that track means anything. You could have gone in that direction.”

A shrug, “Didn’t pay as well.”

“You cripple yourself creatively for a paycheck?”

Angel Dust rolled forward, snapping his fingers aggressively. “The fuck I just say? Look, asshole, I like the music I write and got my reasons for writin’ it. And if you actually wanna know ‘em you’re gonna can the attitude. I did you a favor bringing you on this tour, you know s’well as I do your music don’t sell the way mine does so get offa that high horse.”

Alastor's mouth curled into a frown and his shoulders drooped. After a long beat of silence, he sighed. “Sorry.”

Watching him for a moment, Angel Dust sighed as well, leaning back again. “If you must know, your highness, the money is important. I ain’t exactly been flush with cash mosta my life… Ma died when I was barely hittin’ high school and Pops wasn’t exactly thrilled to have a queer in the family, kicked me out the day I turned eighteen. Gave me barely enough time to grab a bag of clothes and my guitar.”

Alastor hadn't expected that. “Oh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, really. Couch surfed for a while, slept under an overpass once or twice… I busked at subway stations for extra scratch and met Cherri after a few months. She hooked me up with a job at the club she worked at so I started strippin’ to make ends meet.” Alastor must’ve made a face because Angel smirked. “Insider tip, when a club says no sex in the champagne room what they really mean is you’re too cheap to afford sex in the champagne room.”

Alastor tried to change the subject. “You mentioned a sister…?”

“Eh, she called a few times. Said Pops had gotten help for the drinkin’, that he was _sorry_ and wanted me to come back home… but he didn’t ever say nothin’ to me directly so I never went back. My brother sent me money once or twice, felt guilty for not bein’ around when Pops gave me the boot, I think… but I don’t talk to him much either.”

Angel gave him a look and Alastor tried to school his expression, obviously failing when the pop star smirked again.

“In any case, takin’ your clothes off for singles ain’t exactly a guaranteed form of income, not even bein’ pretty like me. One’a the girls I danced with got me a gig with the _adult entertainment_ director she used,” the air quotes were obvious even though he didn’t actually make them. “Probably would’ve gone through with it, too, but I’d still been buskin’ in my spare time and a few days before I was supposed to shoot the thing a clip of me singin’ at Penn Station went viral. Almost twenty million views in less than twenty-four hours.”

Eager to not have to imagine a universe where Angel Dust was a porn star, Alastor latched onto the new topic. “Is that how you were discovered?”

“Had an offer to meet in my DMs the next day,” Angel nodded. “Never thought singin’ the dumb songs I wrote between sets on the pole would do anythin’ good but make some spare change, but next thing I know this big record studio’s got me in a booth with a real band releasin’ a CD. And it sold. People wanted to hear my shitty songs, wanted to see me perform ‘em. I went from sleepin’ on an old mattress on the floor of Cherri’s shit hole apartment, snortin’ coke to get through a shift of gettin’ pawed at by old drunks for singles to bein’ worth six figures in what felt like a minute.”

Alastor thought back to how he’d felt the first day in the recording booth, when he’d held his first CD in his hands. The disbelief of it all, the thought that any moment he’d wake up to his three am alarm to groggily head to the radio station and sift through music that made his ears bleed. He couldn’t fathom what Angel Dust must have felt.

“Y’know why I asked you to come on this tour?”

Curious, he shook his head. He’d questioned his selection almost constantly since the day Rosie had placed the contract in front of him but had never really managed to put the pieces together.

“You did a cover of _That’s Life_ for some shit romcom a few years back, remember? Well, you’d recorded it before and they just put it on the soundtrack.”

Alastor recalled. It had been an absolutely horrible picture, panned by audiences and critics alike, but the paycheck to license his song had been too much to refuse. He grimaced at the memory.

“Ma always loved that song, ‘specially Sinatra’s version…” Angel Dust’s tone was wistful. “When we were kids and she was teachin’ us all to play new instruments that’d be the first song she’d teach us. An’ when she got sick I’d sing it for her all the time… but,” he swallowed, mouth twitching slightly, “when… she died, I couldn’t bring myself to even listen to it anymore. Couldn’t listen to a lot of her favorite music anymore, really…”

He picked at his fingernails, expression vacant and his stare far off, but Alastor remained quiet and let him ponder his next words.

“And then I heard your version. And… it was different. I mean, no shit it was different, I know covers are gonna be different, but, I dunno… it was… happier? You just sounded so fuckin’ _happy_ to be singin’ that song and for the first time in what felt like forever I sang along. I musta listened to it at least a hundred times in the first coupla days, went out and bought all your CDs that week and listened to all of those, too.”

Angel Dust looked at him and Alastor felt paralyzed by the open gratitude on his face.

“Thanks to you I can have that part of her again.”

Trying to fight the flush he knew was suffusing his cheeks, Alastor cleared his throat. “No need to thank me, I’m sure you would’ve listened to it again at some point.”

“I’ve been beggin’ Vee to get you on tour with me since then but he jus’ kept brushin’ me off and sayin’ our music types were too different and it wouldn’t work… but I _like_ old music.” The admission was almost shy and he gave his legs a small kick, stirring up ripples on the water’s surface. “I _really_ like takin’ new music and makin’ it sound old… s’somethin’ me and my ma would do when I was gettin’ bored with the basics… but Vee hates it. Says it’s a waste of my time and nobody’ll listen to it… but I like it.”

The realization hit Alastor almost physically. “It wasn’t the label that released your EP, was it?”

Angel Dust smirked, “Paid off one of the techies and released the tracks myself in the middle of the night. By the time anyone at the label noticed they’d already gone viral. At that point not much they could do about it… and, hey, it got a contract in front of you finally so pissin’ Vee off was worth it.”

That sobered him. “About that, I spoke with him and-”

“Vee wants you to date me for publicity, I know.”

Alastor froze, turning his gaze back to the pop star expecting to find anger of even sadness, but instead his expression was just blank resignation, legs kicking slowly back and forth in the water.

“He does that with all the guys that date me. Took a while to figure out but after…” he paused for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath, “after last time, it wasn’t too hard to put the pieces together. He doesn’t know I know, he thinks I’m just a stupid slut and it’s easier to let him think that. Easier to let everyone think I’m just a stupid slut.”

“How long have the two of you…?”

“Since I signed my contract,” Angel Dust shrugged, tone blasé, as though he were commenting on the weather. “Felt nice… powerful, rich guy like that givin’ me attention. I knew what I was gettin’ into, knew it wasn’t anythin’ serious. Just a bit of fun…”

The _til it wasn’t_ was unspoken, but Alastor heard it regardless.

“We’d fuck off an’ on when I was single an’ he’s always been real touchy with me but I’m used to that from the club. He’s been at a whole ‘nother level since I got outta rehab, though… probably still pissed about it. He’s set me up with a coupla guys since I got out and I go along with it ‘cause he backs offa me if I’m datin’ somebody. Part of the act, I guess…”

“Is that why you were… like that when we first met?” Alastor asked softly and Angel Dust gave a laugh.

“I wasn’t actually hittin’ on you, y’know.”

Alastor gave him an unimpressed look. “You said you couldn’t sleep the first night of the tour, what else could you be implying?”

“If you woulda let me finish I would’ve tried to sell you on a shitty nature documentary and some gummy bears. It’s how I usually spend the first night on the bus.”

“…But you went out partying that night.”

“Well, yeah, I was pissed off. I wasn’t about to give you any fuckin’ gummy bears after the shit you said to me.”

Alastor frowned, “And the bourbon in my dressing room…?”

Rolling his eyes, Angel sighed. “Okay, maybe I was hittin’ on you a little bit. Figured it’d feel less shitty if I was the one to initiate it… It’s why I was so pissed off when you started bein’ nice to me, figured Vee had gotten to ya and… I dunno, if you’d been nice from the get go I coulda pretended it was my choice this time ‘steada his.”

“Why allow it at all?”

Angel Dust laughed hollowly, scrubbing his hands over his face and up through his hair, and Alastor surprisingly felt gutted at the noise. “And what? Say no to him? Yeah, sure, that’ll work out real great. He owns me.”

“He’s your manager, not your pimp.”

Angel Dust tilted his head and Alastor caught sight of the discoloration on his cheek bone, peering through the smudged eye makeup and thick foundation that had been rubbed away. “Close enough, ain’t he?”

_Nifty had to…_

Alastor felt the anger that had banked during their conversation flare back to life, barely maintaining a level tone to his voice.

“You should report him.”

He knew as soon as the words left him how ineffectual the advice was and Angel Dust shook his head.

“I’ve thought about it… but…” he trailed off, brow knitting up. “I’ve worked real hard to get where I am... I have fans who look up to me and a reputation... if I report him it’ll just become this whole media circus and I doubt anythin’d happen to him anyway. Prolly won’t even get a slap on the wrist, an' folks’ll forget he was ever even accused. But me? It’ll become my legacy. All my success, my hard work completely overshadowed.”

He looked up and Alastor could see a dark look in his mismatched eyes, a haunted look.

“I don’t want… _him_ to be the most notable thing that ever happened to me.”

They sat in silence for what felt like a small eternity, the hum of the pool filter and the lapping sound of the water seeming to harmonize with the muffled sounds of the city below. Alastor watched his profile as Angel Dust stared into the water, the refracted light shifting over his face, realizing for the first time just how old Angel Dust actually was. Twenty-seven was not so far off from his own thirty-four, and despite the other man’s boyish features and lackadaisical outward persona, he could now see the depths of maturity in his eyes, the weariness of his shoulders.

He’d lived lifetimes in his few short years.

“So how do you wanna start this thing?”

Alastor blinked, jostled from his thoughts by the quiet words.

“I can bring you to my room. If we keep the curtains closed you can use the pull out or just share the bed if you don't care about that. Chacha can make sure someone sees you leavin’ tomorrow, get the gossip mill goin’, he’d like that.”

“I don’t-“

“Probably should hit the hotel bar first, make sure people see us together,” he hummed thoughtfully, “get handsy with you and get caught gettin’ in the elevator together? Drunk selfies get the internet goin’ like nothin’ else.”

“Angel, I-“

“I’ll need to fix my face, though, fuck I must look like a hung over sororiety girl… and not for nothin’, but you gotta change ‘cause if you think I’m takin’ pics with you dressed like _that_ you’re fuckin’ high.”

“Angel!”

The pop star stopped, looking at him with a frown and a knit to his brow. “Well I don’t hear you comin’ up with any bright ideas, fuckface!”

“I told him no, you absolute _couillon_ ,” he cringed as the word slipped out, his exasperation letting loose the reins on his accent, hoping Angel Dust didn’t notice.

“The fuck you just call me?”

Luckily Angel Dust’s temper and ever present desire to start a fight with him seemed to override his curiosity for the time being.

“I told him exactly what I thought of his plan and he was none too pleased about it, wish I’d taken a picture of his face when I shot him down,” Alastor continued, rising to his feet and brushing at his trousers in a futile attempt to dissolve the damp feeling of pool water soaking the fabric. “My only regret is that it seems to have caused you more difficulty than if I had just continued avoiding him entirely so I suppose I must apologize for that.”

Angel Dust stared up at him, eyes wide and mouth shut for once.

“Now, if you had any more of that Woodford Reserve laying around I wouldn’t say no to a nightcap, but I think we’ve had enough emotional outpouring today and you peg me as the sort to cry when you get drunk enough.”

Surprisingly the blonde blushed at that, mouth curving into a pout as he drew his knees up, arms wrapping around his damp shins. “I don’t cry.” He muttered petulantly, staring over the water and Alastor couldn’t help but smile.

As he moved to step away, he paused at Angel Dust’s voice, much more subdued.

“Thanks… for not takin’ the deal.”

Alastor reached out without a thought, fingers lacing through surprisingly soft blonde hair, ruffling it up and setting loose another cloud of glitter.

“Don’t mention it, my dear.”

He pulled back with great effort, hand sliding into his pocket to disguise the way his fingers clenched into a fist.

Angel Dust looked up at him for a long moment before a small smile curled his mouth, his nose wrinkling slightly. “Havin’ you as my fake boyfriend woulda been kinda funny I guess… considerin’ how pissy Vee got just by havin’ you on the tour.” He laughed and Alastor tilted his head. “Pretty sure you’re the reason he never steps foot on the damn bus as it is, bet if we were actually a thing he’d stop talkin’ to me entirely.”

He snickered, rising to his feet and padding over to his boots, not bothering to try and put them on as he went to collect his laptop.

Alastor stared after him for a long moment, the gears in his head already starting to work. He fell into step as they walked to the elevator, making sure to move the brick out of the way as he did so. The elevator opened quickly and as it descended the few short floors, Angel Dust turned to him.

“So… were you kiddin’ about the nightcap? Don’t got any more of that fancy shit, but the mini bar’s free game.”

The elevator stopped and the door opened. Alastor held his arm out to prevent the door from closing and smiled wide. “Now, now, it’s quite late, you should clean off that make up and get to bed. Busy day tomorrow and I won’t listen to you complain about being tired to everyone who’ll listen.”

“Yeah, yeah… fuck, ain’t even my fake boyfriend and you’re still tellin’ me what to do,” the pop star snorted, walking past.

Alastor pulled his hand back as Angel Dust turned the corner, the doors sliding shut and the car beginning to move again. As he watched the numbers count down as his floor approached, he couldn’t stop his thumb from tracing over his fingers, chasing the soft feeling of Angel’s hair.

Rosie was going to be cross with him, he just knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced is That's Life covered by Dennis Van Aarssen.


	6. Chapter 6

It hadn’t taken Alastor long to come to a decision. After sleeping on it, he awoke just as certain and spent much of the morning in his hotel room ironing out details and working through possible situations, the confidence in his plan of action rising.

And when Angel Dust opened the door to his suite and Alastor saw just how the bruise on his cheek looked without the cover of makeup, his resolve became iron.

“Al?” Angel Dust seemed confused, peering over his shoulder and into the hallway. “The hotel on fire?”

That caught him off guard. “What? No.”

“…did we need to go to sound check early?” he started reaching for his phone. “Chacha hasn’t messaged me…”

“No. Nothing like-“ Alastor sighed. “Can I come in?”

Angel Dust blinked before stepping back to let him pass. The suite was like any other, but Alastor could see the tell tale signs of the occupant – the bomber jacket haphazardly thrown over the sofa, three different energy drinks on various surfaces around the living area, and what appeared to be a nature documentary playing on the TV.

He crossed the threshold, stepping into the suite and turning to face Angel Dust as he closed the door and regarded him curiously. The blond had tied his hair back in a stub of a ponytail, the freckles over his nose particularly dark in the late morning light filtering through the large windows of the room as he awkwardly tugged the hem of his oversized pink hoodie over his ridiculously small lounge shorts. He bit at his lip, socked toes curling on the carpet as he looked around the room, obviously unsure about the unexpected guest.  “You want somethin’ from the mini bar or whatever?” 

“We should date.”

Angel’s head jerked up in surprise, “The fuck?”

Alastor winced, “I mean. We should pretend to date. You said Valentino is more likely to leave you alone when you’re in a relationship, right?”

“Well… yeah… but you said you turned him down yesterday.”

“Easy enough to rectify. Tell him I talked it over with my manager and changed my mind. I doubt he’d suspect the two of us colluding against him.”

Angel Dust seemed at a loss, running fingers through the few stray strands of hair that had escaped the elastic and sighing as they stubbornly fell back into place. “Okay, look. I appreciate what you’re tryin’ t’do, but I can’t let ya-“

“Angel.”

The blonde hesitated, brow knit up as Alastor took a few steps forward while still maintaining a respectable distance between them. 

“What is happening to you is wrong. Quite frankly, it’s unacceptable, and I’m respecting your wishes by not interfering directly… but I also can’t stand idly by and allow it to continue. If this farce can keep him at bay then it’s a small concession on my part.”

Angel Dust absentmindedly touched his bruised cheek. “You can’t do it forever.”

“Even just for the length of the tour,” Alastor pressed. “Give you some sort of reprieve.”

“Where’s this comin’ from? You don’t even like me.” 

“I know we got off to a rough start,” Alastor ignored Angel Dust’s snort, “but you can’t possibly think that I dislike you enough to allow this while I’m around, can you?” He didn’t answer and Alastor felt a small tug in his chest at how the pop star curled in on himself, sighing. “Angel Dust.  _ Anthony _ .”

Cringing, the blonde let his crossed arms drop. “You’ll have to let me get grabby with you. Let me get all up in your biz, Vee knows what I’m like when I’m gettin’ flirty.”

Alastor had expected as much. “Of course.”

“He’ll want press worthy stuff,” Angel Dust continued, “headlines an’ shit. Tabloids and paps, the whole shebang.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

“I’m pretty sure he pays off crew members to leak info, too, so we gotta be on twenty-four seven. Really sell it.”

“Angel, I already said I wanted to do it, I’m not going to change my mind.”

The blonde regarded him for a long while and Alastor maintained his gaze easily. After what felt like eons but was surely only a few moments, the pop star sighed, a small smile curling his lips.

“You’re real fuckin’ stupid, you know that?” The gem on his canine sparkled as he shook his head, hands resting on his hips. “I like that in a man.”

Alastor rolled his eyes, smiling beside himself and finally taking a seat on the plush sofa. “Sound check is in only a few hours and I need a crash course in faking a convincing relationship, so I’ll take that drink you offered.”

Angel Dust laughed, opening the mini bar and pulling out a few bottles. “Oh honey, that’s lessons one to three right there.” 

\--

Immediately, Charlie and Vaggie were brought in on their plan. It was hard not to, considering their assistants found both of them in Angel Dust's suite, a half empty mini bar spread out before them, Rosie on speakerphone working through bullet points with them in preparation of a follow up meeting between Alastor and Valentino during Angel's show that night. Charlie had accepted her role with ease, deferring to Angel's judgement on how he wanted to handle the situation, though Vaggie voiced her distaste with the whole thing in a slew of colorful Spanish expletives and threats of violence. The only thing that kept her from marching right into Valentino's suite and doing him visceral harm was both Charlie and Alastor physically holding her back while Angel Dust and Rosie talked her down.

Her job wasn’t worth the few short minutes of revenge and Angel knew better than anyone what inciting Valentino’s wrath would invite.

Rosie's involvement was critical, and Alastor was, for once, glad that she had a petty streak as wide as her arms as she directed it to Valentino. While he worried about getting to the venue and readying himself to perform, she had spent time negotiating contract details with Valentino, something she had been pleased to report had gone swimmingly in their favor with Valentino seemingly completely unaware. The other man had been quite pleased with Alastor's sudden reconsideration, popping open a bottle of champagne and even offering him one of his foul smelling cigars.  


It became the talk of the crew, the seemingly overnight difference between the two of them.

One day Alastor was aloof, keeping his distance and almost deliberately ignoring the pop star, and then suddenly the two were inseparable, almost never seen without the other unless they were on stage. And even then, they made a point to be seen watching the other perform – that first night when Alastor had hung back to watch Angel Dust’s show had been the match that lit the gossip mill on fire, especially when the two disappeared into Angel Dust’s dressing room after the fact.

It had been a steep learning curve. Alastor who had engaged in exactly zero serious relationships in his adult life suddenly attempting to publicly flirt with the pop star most often voted  _ Sexiest Man in Music. _ Angel Dust had taken the brunt of the work, his flirtatious persona carrying most of the weight and Alastor’s awkward, flustered reactions only adding to the believability of the sudden change in their relationship.  But Alastor was nothing if not a fast learner and within just a few days he was acting the part of  _ secret partner _ with ease, procuring the other man energy drinks as though they were roses, surreptitious touches on his lower back casual as you like and always in view of others, comments  _ just _ questionable enough to get chins wagging. It was actually quite fun, almost like a game!

He’d expected the confused looks and the whispers from the tech crew and the dancers, the way they failed to be subtle while snapping candid photos of them talking, standing far too close to be truly platonic, but far enough away for deniability – exactly what tabloids feasted on if the numerous gossip sites reporting on their  _ tour romance  _ and the sudden buzzing of speculative hashtags about them had anything to say about it. 

“Hate to break it to ya, Smiles, but it wasn’t like I started doin’ more drugs just ‘cause I met Vee.”

Alastor frowned, drawing a card and placing it in the discard pile. “Vox, then?”

What he hadn’t expected was actually enjoying the time he spent in Angel Dust’s company now that they weren’t at each other’s throats with every word.

“Man, you really  _ don’t _ pay attention to celebrity gossip. I was a stripper, if anythin’ I’ve been takin'  _ less _ drugs since I got famous. It's nice not havin' to worry if the shit you're snortin' is cut with enough ketamine to down a bull elephant, but just means you gotta pace yourself more.” He picked up the discarded card and replaced one in his hand, putting it face down before laying out his hand. “Gin.”

Though he was sure he’d enjoy it much more if Angel Dust could lose at cards at least once in a while.

Resisting the urge to scowl, Alastor noted their scores and shuffled the deck to redeal. “Fair enough, though I was under the impression that it was your courtship with him ending that sent you into your most notorious binge.”

Snorting, Angel Dust accepted his hand, idly reorganizing his cards with a disinterested air. “ _ Courtship _ . We took PCP and fucked, ain’t exactly the makin’s of a Jane Austen flick.” 

Alastor grimaced. “Must you really?”

Angel Dust pursed his lips in a mock kiss, winking. He snickered as Alastor rolled his eyes, the fond smile on his face softening the crass back and forth. “The party persona wasn’t somethin’ Vee made up, Al, half my first album was written between sets on a pole high on PCP an' cocaine.” He hummed thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the table top. “But you ain’t wrong, definitely took a turn with… y’know.”

Despite being fairly open about his other trysts, Angel Dust often avoided directly talking about Vox. When he did comment, it was with the unflappable tone of the one unaffected by the break up as opposed to the one so devastated they’d ended up in rehab.

Alastor, seeing an opportunity for a bit more information, feigned the same level of indifference, flipping the first card into the discard pile. “What was different about him from your other paramours?”

Angel Dust passed on the card and Alastor picked it up, discarding one without a thought. Chewing on his bottom lip, Angel Dust drummed his fingers. “Different? I mean, big picture, he was exactly the same as the rest of ‘em, sittin’ in Vee’s back pocket waitin’ for a payout.”

Raising a brow, Alastor inclined his head, watching as Angel took his turn.

“The papers like to shit on me because of all the dudes I’ve dated since I got famous, but if they knew how many I’ve been with that I  _ wasn’t  _ datin’? Whoof.  I ain't never been exactly  _ puritanical _ , if y’catch my drift, never figured I’d really settle down so everything was always real casual an’ fun... gettin' famous just means I get to be more choosy about the guys I dick down than when I was a stripper.” 

“You have racked up quite the list, enough that even I was at least somewhat aware of your reputation.”

“Society likes to poke fun at sluts, easy targets.” Angel Dust shrugged. “But even still Vox…  _ was _ different? Or it felt different, I dunno. Like I said, mosta the guys I dated kept it real casual even when we got  _ serious _ , probably since they knew there was an expiration date comin’, but it wasn’t like that with him. We’d stay at each other’s places just to see each other, not even to fuck, I had a little cup with a toothbrush and a drawer in his bathroom for my stuff an’ everythin’... I’d never gotten that far with anyone I’d ever dated before.” Angel Dust laughed, shaking his head. “He’d buy me flowers and jewelry all the time and was constantly postin’ pics online… but I guess lookin’ back that was one of the red flags.”

“Oh?”

Angel Dust shuffled his hand before tossing a card down. “How much attention he wanted from everyone but me. When you’re famous an’ datin’ you try and stay outta the spotlight, keep the rumor mill quiet for a while… most guys would freak if a pap got a photo of us holdin’ hands but he was always wantin’ to take me out where people’d see. Even if I wanted to stay in with shitty take out and some garbage TV he’d always talk me into goin’ out so he could  _ show me off. _ An’ that always led to me drinkin’ too much or doin’ drugs an’ makin’ an ass of myself so I'd end up front page with TMZ. It was always  _ one more line _ or  _ c’mon babe they bought us shots, it’s rude to not drink ‘em _ .” Angel Dust pitched his voice low, his impression half assed and obviously with a tone of insult. “Sometimes I’d be blacked out for  _ days _ and I guess it just seemed fine ‘cause we was havin’ a good time and I never got in trouble for it even when I knew we went too far.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t, it was what Valentino wanted.”

“Yeah, but after a while it stopped bein’ news, just another partyin’ pop star out high off his tits. Guess that’s when Vee finally decided to pull the plug… but even after two years the dick didn’t even have the balls to actually break up with me, he just ghosted and suddenly my phone’s blowin’ up with pictures of him all over some twink from the label at our favorite club.”

He pulled a card from the draw pile but didn’t even look at it, just holding it face down half way to his hand.

“You’ve probably seen the video of what happened when I got there.”

Despite his avoidance of the media, that particular incident had created such waves that it had been impossible for Alastor to avoid all of it. He’d seen fragmented clips, grainy photos, and the unflattering mug shot with a split lip and black eye that had been paraded with the headlines about assault charges.

“It’s embarassin’ but it took me almost two months after that to piece it all together. Their tour was announced an’ Vee just kept diggin’ at me… it finally clicked that he’d had a hand in everythin’. He’d sent me to the club the night we met, the one who suggested doin’ a track together, tourin’ together… and when I thought back to every other guy since I started it was all the same shit.” 

He finally discarded the card without looking at it.

“I went off the deep end. Figured if Vee wanted me to party I’d fuckin’  _ party _ . If I could snort, shoot, or smoke it I was down with a shot right after. Different guy every night, pissin’ off the paparazzi and just bein’ the biggest fuckin’ prick I could be. Got arrested at least four more times after that for startin’ fights at clubs or havin’ enough blow on me to attract the cartel and as soon as the press coverage stopped it all got swept under a rug. Never even saw the inside of a court room.”

“Suppose you weren’t joking when you said you didn’t remember your last tour.”

He’d been aiming for levity but was unable to muster it, the corners of his mouth pulled down as he discarded another card, the game suddenly more something to do with his hands than any sort of leisure activity.

Angel Dust laughed anyway, shaking his head. “Just a blur, really. Figured if I fucked up enough maybe they’d fire me… but instead my album sales went off the fuckin’ rails and they extended my contract. My performance didn’t even suffer too much, from what I can tell watchin’ somma the videos, at worst I look kinda tipsy, not like I’ve done more dust than a double-shift hooker. That's what experience gets you.”

The joke fell flat as the singer ran his fingers through his hair, a smile curving his lips but not reaching his eyes.

“He fuckin’  _ loved _ it,” Angel Dust’s tone was hard to describe, but the closest approximation Alastor felt he could use was a combination of disgust and regret. “I decided I’d live up to my reputation and boot early and just went harder. I OD’d a few times but there was always someone around with narcan so I figure Vee expected it… Last time I was partying with one of the tech guys in my hotel room and whatever I took the narcan didn't bring me back. I was legally dead for like four whole minutes before the paramedics showed up. Vee tried to bribe him to be quiet, get him to sign an NDA but he went to the execs threatenin’ to go to the papers… I never saw him again. Nobody’ll even say his name, they freak out if I try and bring him up.”

His brow knit up, gaze faraway and unseeing.

“He just wanted to help me… an’ it’s like he doesn’t even exist.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Angel Dust tapping his cards against the table and drumming his free fingers in a rapid staccato. Alastor observed,  fearful that any comment he made would shutter the other man and send him to the other side of the bus until sound check.   


Finally, Angel drew another card. “It was a wake up call for me. Chacha and Cherri snuck me off to rehab next chance we got… Vee was  _ bullshit _ but after what they’d done to Travis I made sure to kick up a fuss online and with the press about how they’d  _ saved me _ and that I was finally  _ getting help _ so he couldn’t fire them too. Pretty sure that just pissed him off more...”

He finally discarded a card from his hand and Alastor noted how furtively he seemed to be staring at the remaining cards, mouth pinched and brow knit. The fingers drumming on the table had stopped, curled into a loose fist, his thumb rubbing against the edge of his finger, nail catching on his ring with ever swipe.

Clearing his throat, Alastor drew a card of his own, “Well, I for one am glad.”

The twitching ceased and Angel Dust finally looked up at him, head tilting ever so slightly.

“If they hadn’t taken that risk, I wouldn't have this opportunity to say, oh how did you put it...” he shifted his hand and placed a card faced down before revealing the rest with a smile.  "Knock knock, bitch."  


Then Angel Dust revealed his own hand, tossing his two of hearts onto one of Alastor's sets. “Gin.”

“Okay, at this point, statistically you have to be cheating.” Alastor stared at the cards, pleased at the way Angel Dust laughed in response, the somber mood broken.

“If you’re pissed now, wait ‘til you see me playin’ bridge.”

Collecting the deck, Alastor watched Angel Dust slip out of the booth, walking into the kitchenette. He noted the score, shaking his head at the long row of zeros under his name with a lonely four three rounds in. “Can’t we just play some of those silly video games of yours? We were both terrible at them. Seemed more fair.”

“I offered to play strip poker, somebody was bein’ a little bitch about keepin’ his pants on, though,” Angel Dust clucked his tongue, setting down a bottle of water in front of Alastor as he popped the tab of his  _ Sharp Tooth _ , sliding back into the booth.

Opening his mouth to respond, Alastor was interrupted by the chime of Angel Dust’s phone. Taking an obnoxious slurping sip of his drink, he opened the message before clicking out a reply at a speed Alastor still found impressive. 

“That’s Cherri, says she needs my help with somethin’.”

Alastor tried not to let his disappointment show, “Did she say what?”

Chugging the rest of his drink in a few more large sips, the singer shook his head, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nah, but I better go check anyways, haven’t hung out with her much since all this started.”

Stepping away from the booth again, he reached back to wrench his shirt over his head much to Alastor’s sputtering consternation, throwing it across the lounge. Ignoring him, the blond disappeared up the stairs two at a time, returning after a few short moments pulling on an oversized cropped t-shirt with a glittering pink cursive  _ Slutty _ adorning the chest.

Alastor’s nose twitched, “Did you put on my cologne again?”

“You’re the one who said Axe smells like a frat house,” Angel Dust called over his shoulder, slipping his phone into the pocket of his high-waisted shorts. 

“I also said my cologne isn’t cheap.”

“Stop smellin’ so good an' I’ll stop stealin’ your shit.” Padding through the kitchenette, Angel stopped long enough to lean back into the lounge. “We still on for dinner after my set?”

Alastor slid the deck of cards into the box, setting it aside. “Vaggie’s having it delivered to the bus.”

Angel Dust opened his mouth.

“I told her extra garlic on yours and to just put my dessert with yours.”

Winking, Angel Dust smirked, “Finally a man who knows how to treat a lady.”

Waving him off, Alastor reached for his novel. He still had at least two hours before Vaggie would come to fetch him, he was sure he could come close to finishing it before curtain.

It was only a few short minutes later that the door to the bus opened and Alastor didn’t bother looking up, sipping at his water.

“I don’t know where you left whatever you’re looking for, so don’t ask,” he hummed, turning a page, pausing at the thick Australian accent that responded.

“We’re having a fucking chat, you an’ me.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Blinking slowly, Alastor glanced up, eyebrows knitting in confusion as he cast a look around the otherwise vacant bus. “Didn’t he just go because you texted him?”

“Nifty and the girls are gonna keep him busy for me,” Cherri replied, arms folded across her chest, her sleeve of tattoos particularly vibrant against the shocking red of her top and the riotous mass of her ponytail. Her eyes were narrowed, mouth thin as she regarded him coolly and Alastor carefully placed a bookmark between the pages of his novel, setting it aside before folding his hands in front of him and inclining his head at the seat across from him.

Instead of sitting, Cherri turned a skeptical eye to the tour bus around her – she’d visited a few times in the early days of the tour when the sides of the leisure area were more obviously separated but Alastor didn’t recall seeing her since the invisible barrier had fallen away. The even split had overlapped to become a mishmash of two very different, yet somehow similar people more easily sharing the space in the past weeks, Angel Dust’s discarded clothing crumpled on seats and hastily kicked under tables, several of Alastor’s books tucked into alcoves and alongside palettes and make up brushes, his glasses case poking out from behind Angel’s laptop amongst a sea of empty drink cans.

_ Oh, so that’s where he put my watch the other day _ Alastor noted absently at the glitter of gold on the window sill tucked under a discarded cropped hoodie.

“I know about Val.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t. I assume Angel Dust has explained our plan?”

“Yeah, and it stinks of bullshit.”

Alastor tilted his head, his own eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses at her accusatory tone.

“Ain’t a single guy that dick weasel turned on Angie that hasn’t ended up being just as much of a fuck waffle as him. What’s your angle here?”

Nonplussed by her colorful insults – he’d had the pleasure to hear Angel Dust call his laptop a ‘cock juggling thunder cunt’ just the day before, not much could top that he supposed – he blinked. “My angle?”

Cherri sneered, “Yeah, your  _ angle. _ What’re you getting outta this? Watching us from backstage as if you don't hate his music, playing nice with the dancers while they drink themselves stupid after the show all while looking like you'd rather gnaw off your own hands than go through another minute of it. Your act might fool most people, but I see right through you.”

“Watching you all get black out drunk and vomit on each other is the highlight of my day and I’m insulted you think otherwise.”

“Don’t  _ fuck _ with me!” she slammed her palm on the table top and Alastor absently reached up to stop Angel’s most recently abandoned can from wobbling. “What the fuck is he giving you?”

“You’d have to ask my manager, she organized the minutiae of the agreement and I wasn’t bothered to ask too many questions.” 

“Only thing worse than a creep is a creep who thinks he’s on the level and I will  _ fuck _ you up if you think I’ll let you hurt my bitch.” She glowered and he hummed, shaking his head. 

“Miss Cherri… as touching as your concern for Angel Dust’s well being is, I think we both know if we continue this path nothing constructive is going to happen. I’m happy to speak with you as two adults and answer any questions you might have, but I’m going to have to ask you to stop threatening me and sit down.”

Cherri stared him down for a long moment before finally slumping into the chair, kicking her converse clad foot onto one of the adjacent seats. “Fuck, you even talk like my old man…”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Alastor sighed. “What would you like to know first?”

She sucked on her teeth, eyes narrowed and leg jiggling anxiously before she finally scoffed and looked away. “Angie said you turned dickfuck down when he asked?”

“The request is rather distasteful at face value, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Didn’t stop any of the others,” she snorted and he gave into the urge, rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, I turned it down. I have no desire to boost my career at the expense and deception of others and I found the very idea repulsive.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Changed your tune awful quick.”

“It is my opinion that if Angel Dust wants to fake a relationship for the press, he should have full control of the situation. My refusal left Valentino the option to simply select someone else far less scrupulous to step in, I chose to use my unique position to even the playing field a bit. Despite Valentino’s low expectations of Angel, he is the one orchestrating all of this, I assure you. Any and all decisions regarding our partnership are with his full and knowing consent and, more often than not, his idea to begin with.”

“Angie ain’t been too forthcoming with how it all works.” She looked at him expectantly and he huffed.

“We’re mostly left to our own devices, my manager is the one who works out the details with Valentino and reports them back to me and I to Angel. So far it’s been rather vague requests to  _ seduce him _ , as helpful as that is. I defer to Angel as he’s done this sort of thing before and he’s been quite adept at creating a narrative with his online presence that has the media in quite the tizzy. The deniability and ‘ _ are they aren’t they’  _ speculation have been the driving force, which suits me quite nicely, and it seems to be working well enough to keep the higher ups content.”

“He says you two are strictly platonic, no foolin’ around or anything.”

“I don’t have much interest in that sort of thing, to be honest,” Alastor nodded. “When Valentino requests more public displays, I defer to Angel Dust’s judgment." He bounced his eyebrows a few times, smiling wide but not even attempting to make salacious, "A photo of us holding hands circulated earlier this week, caused quite the stir on twitter if my manager is to be believed. Quite the scandal. We have our own hashtag, whatever that is.”

Cherri didn't even crack a smile. “He had a hickey the other day.”

Alastor's smile fell into a grimace, his face flushing slightly, “Yes, I’m aware.”

It was hard for him to forget, the way Angel Dust had crashed onto the bus, clambering into his lap before he was able to even greet him. The pop star had shoved Alastor’s face into his neck, glasses pressing uncomfortably into his face, demanding to be given a hickey, his lean frame deceptively strong as Alastor tried to shove him away.

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ “We need somethin’ better than hand holdin’ if we want the gossip rags to really talk,” Angel Dust argued, finally allowing himself to be pushed back far enough to look him in the eye. “I’d have to damn near draw blood to leave a mark on you that anyone would notice, you bronze motherfucker.” _

_ Alastor sputtered, “I am not going to… to bite on your neck like a sixteen year old frotting in the backseat of their parent’s car!” _

_ “Well it’s that or you let me shove my hand down your pants at the bar tonight, your choice.” _

_ Alastor grimaced, “Why is it always up to eleven with you? Can’t I just put my arm around your shoulders or something? Less is more, you know.” _

_ “Don’t be a prude, Al, they already think we're fuckin'. You just gotta bite me. C’mon, little bite. Just a l’il one. C’mon...” _

The goading had gone on for several minutes until he finally capitulated, biting down and sucking as hard as he could on the curve where Angel’s neck met his jaw. He had done his best to keep it perfunctory even with Angel practically writhing against him and the mark left behind had been vivid against the singer’s pale skin.

Angel had pointedly taken and posted several innocently posed selfies and made sure to wear an off the shoulder top with his hair tied back for the next two days while the bruise was its most obvious. The media response had been ridiculous, much to Alastor’s embarrassment, resulting in him having to repeat the whole thing just a few days later at Valentino's demand.   


“So, why’re you doin’ it?”

Alastor was caught off guard by the question, but more so by the sincerity in her voice. “What?”

“You’re not fucking him, you’re telling me the attention you’re getting isn’t what you want and you don’t care about whatever Valentino’s offering you… but you don’t exactly peg me as a Mr. Rogers _for the good of mankind_ type. Guys like you don’t just do shit out of the goodness of their hearts, especially considering you don’t even  _ like _ Angie. I mean, fuck, we thought you’d already taken the deal before you came clean, so what gives?”

The insinuation irritated him. He’d gone out of his way to find Angel and prove that Valentino’s assumption about him had been wrong knowing he was risking retaliation. He'd wanted to show that he wasn’t the type of man to play into such deplorable schemes and would instead attempt to stem the abuse, intending to bring light to the indignities Angel was facing, reveal the truth of Valentino’s real character to the singer. The revelation that not only was Angel already aware of everything going on but that he’d shared a similar view of Alastor’s character had surprisingly hurt.

While he knew any poor opinion Angel held of him was due to his own behavior and words, the notion of just how low he thought of him had given him pause. The thought that he’d somehow given the impression that he would be another in a long line of men eager to take advantage and abuse the singer had sickened him, and, perhaps selfishly, he felt the urge to change the other man’s mind.  It was the realization of just how readily Angel seemed to go along with Valentino’s plan, how resigned he was to his position as a tool meant to raise others at his own expense, even someone who had been so needlessly cruel to him as Alastor had been, that spurned Alastor into action.

Perhaps it  _ was _ selfish, the desire to prove to Angel that he was a good person.

Realizing Cherri was still waiting for an answer, he cleared his throat. “I wanted to help and found myself in a position to do so.”

She snorted derisively. “Yeah fucking right. No matter what you think, you’re all the same, every one of you. You act like you’re doing a good thing here because you’ve let Angie in on it, but it’s no different than any of the other jackasses before you. You’re still taking advantage of him… and at the end of the day you’re gonna walk off into the sunset with whatever bullshit reward your manager got you, thinking you’re some knight in shining armor and he’s gonna be right back where he started with that sick fuck pawning him off on someone else. Nothing you’re doing is actually changing a damn thing. You’re not helping anyone but yourself. Least you can do is be honest about it.”

His already soured mood darkened further, hands curling into fists and eyes narrowing.

“It’s not as though this is a particularly easy problem to solve, otherwise the rest of you would’ve taken care of it long before I came along. My presence keeps Valentino away which is more than any of you have really managed. Especially you.” 

“Especially me what?”

He inclined his head, tone darkening. “For all your bravado and over protectiveness, you’ve not managed to do much at all to prevent any of this, have you? Though I suppose it is  _ easier _ to stand by and let your friend be prostituted out than to risk your job to put a stop to it.”

Cherri’s face flushed in anger, eyes blazing as she lurched forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve done for him! What we’ve been through together!”

“I have my suspicions. You knew him before he was famous, got him his job at the strip club,” he watched as she tensed, glowering as she held herself back. “That’s where he started taking harder drugs.”

“Everyone there was taking drugs,” she countered, though there was a slight tremor to her voice, only obvious because he was listening for it. “We were strippers, you took shit to get through a shift. Not a single damn girl on the pole was sober.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he replied, “but I’d wager there was only one person there he would trust enough to share a supply with. Someone experienced he could turn to in confidence, follow in their footsteps beyond his own limitations in a dire hope to prove himself... someone who would _enable_ him and his self destructive tendencies..."  he suddenly leaned back, feigning indifference. “But of course, I would never imply that you feel guilty for introducing Angel to the very drugs he eventually overdosed on. That would be untoward.”

They stared at each other for a long, heavy moment and Cherri turned away, the frown on her face much sadder than it had been just moments before.

“He’s my best friend,” she muttered, “and I keep fucking him up. I got him that job knowing what it would do to him, knowing I shouldn't… and when it got too hard, I gave him drugs to get him through so he wouldn't quit. I was right there for his first line of coke, his first bump of dust… talking him through it and egging him on. Every shitty thing I did he was right there with me... my ride or die.” She shook her head slowly. “Anyone else given half a chance to fuck off and never look back would’ve taken it, but not him. Even with all the garbage I put him through, the second he got that contract he was back at the club offering all of us jobs and begging us to come with him.  He never came out and said what he gave up to get the execs to agree, but I know getting a bunch of coked up strippers on staff couldn’t come cheap. And how did I repay him?”

Alastor watched her carefully as she blinked back tears, pointedly not looking at him as she spoke, his own irritation melting away as she crumbled before him.

“I went out,” she gave a watery smile, eyes turned towards the ceiling in a futile effort to keep the tears from falling, “and got him an eight ball. And I badgered him into taking it with me… fuck, I was always dragging him along with my bullshit. Even when he wanted to stop or… or…” her voice cracked, “even with the Vox thing, I didn’t even try to slow him down until it was too late!”

She finally looked at him, the tears falling as she gave a self deprecating laugh, face blotchy and voice gritty, holding her hands out awkwardly to show herself to him.  


“Some fuckin’ friend I am.”

Alastor sighed softly as she wiped at her face with the heel of her hand before crossing her arms again, trying and failing to keep her breathing under control. “You did get him into rehab eventually… surely that’s worth something.”

“The only good thing I ever did for him and he still had to stick his neck out to fix it for me. I’m on thin fucking ice, I can’t…” she gave a huffing breath, swallowing thickly. “One more mistake and I’m gone and then who's gonna look out for him, huh? Sneak him food off his diet plan or keep him from going home with a rando at the club? Be there with him at two in the morning when he's... after Val's..." she shook her head. "Charlie? _You?_ I can't... I'm doing to best I can, here. I _am._ I just... don't know what else I can do."

He didn’t have a response to that and sat back watching as she tried to regain her composure, the silence of the bus cut through by her loud sniffles and shuddering breaths.

Alastor ignored the tear stains on her cheeks as she cleared her throat, rubbing her hands over her face again. “Tell me,” she began before sniffling loudly and licking her lips. “Tell me something you like about him.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re gonna date my best friend, even faking it… It’s my job to make sure you’re not a total drongo. So, tell me something you like about him.”

Alastor’s brow knit up and he blinked quickly. “Something I like about Angel…?”

His first instinct was to deny that he liked anything about the pop star. To complain about his vulgarity, his flashy wardrobe, his boisterous personality. But he held back, each complaint followed by a thought of why each of those traits had somehow become… endearing. When had the switch from obnoxiously overbearing and tedious flipped to… whatever it was that Alastor thought of him now?

Were there even words for it?

“He’s… entertaining,” he said slowly, as though testing the word out, immediately realizing it wasn’t quite right.

“Entertaining.”

He frowned at her tone before elaborating, “I’m never bored with him.”

She laughed, a high pitched sort of giggle of bewilderment, pushing her hair out of her face as she rubbed at her eyes. “What sorta Roger Rabbit… guess it’s better than sayin’ he’s got a nice ass.”

Alastor wasn’t confident in his answer, still struggling to really put words to what he actually meant. It was uncomfortable, to be so unsure of his own opinion, his vast vocabulary evading him as he tried to find an explanation for the shift in his opinion. While he was still annoyed by Angel quite often, he suddenly realized his overall view of the other man was overwhelmingly positive and he couldn’t pinpoint any specific reason or event that would have triggered the change. 

As his mind raced, a cacophony of memories from the few short weeks of their shared company one right after the other, he found himself speaking the only clear thought in his head.

“Cherri, I want you to be assured that I intend to do everything in my power to keep him from harm for as long as I’m allowed.”

He stopped, surprised by how fiercely he meant it. He didn’t have long to ruminate, though, as Cherri huffed, pointedly looking away as another tear rolled down her cheek.

“You’d better.”

\--

The next few days after his conversation with Cherri, Alastor found himself contemplative. If Angel Dust noticed a change in his mood, he didn’t mention it, if anything taking advantage of Alastor’s reticence by filling the void with inane conversation whenever the fancy struck him.

“Okay, but like, you’ve never been to an aquarium?”

“I lived by the Mississippi River for two decades, if I wanted to see fish I just had to go outside and catch one.”

“Yeah, but aquariums have different fish than a river.”

“I would hope so or they’d be quite superfluous,” Alastor hummed. At Angel Dust’s grunt of displeasure at his answer he smirked. “Does a gator show count? I’ve been to a few of those.”

“Izzat like a redneck donkey show?” Angel snickered at the unimpressed look he received, flinching when Nifty flicked his temple. “Sorry, Nif.” 

The red head rolled her eyes, gripping his chin firmly in her hand to prevent him from moving, “You’d best not complain if your foundation is patchy, mister.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he sighed theatrically, catching Alastor’s eye through his reflection in the mirror and wrinkling his nose up at the amused smirk on his face. The jazz singer felt a pang as the other man’s freckles disappeared under the thick foundation, turning his attention back to his book when Angel Dust stuck his tongue out petulantly. 

“And you,” Nifty gave Alastor a stern look over Angel Dust’s head, waving her makeup brush as though it were a weapon, “stop distracting him or I’ll send you back to your dressing room.”

“Of course, my deepest apologies.”

He knew it was an empty threat. Alastor hadn’t seen the inside of his own dressing rooms in close to two weeks at this point, using his presence as a citronella candle to keep the mosquito known as Valentino away. At first Vaggie had made a show of bringing his belongings to his dressing room but after two days she’d just given up, dropping everything off while Charlie brought Angel's to save him the trouble of carrying it down the hall himself.  


In return he didn’t comment on the fact that he hadn’t found her in her own hotel room since Memphis.  


While Alastor found great pleasure in the fact that the louse of a manager was put off by his very presence, he felt a pang of guilt at the idea that the amount of time he was spending with Angel was directly reliant on the other man. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie to himself and knew that there was no way the two of them would have become nearly as close as they now were without Valentino’s interference. Many times since his conversation with Cherri did the thought sober him, though he found himself actually glad for the opportunity to get to know Angel Dust beyond his show persona.

Despite making sure to actively carve out solitary time from each other, if not just to get space and some breathing room, they somehow still found themselves spending most of the day together. The close quarters of tour life made it all the easier to live in each other’s back pocket and Alastor found he didn’t have many complaints. The quiet of the bus had been filled with Angel’s chatter, considerations about dinner were made with Angel’s tastes in mind, and even the conversations he had with Vaggie or Husker during his solo time always somehow circled back to something Angel had said or done. Surprisingly, Alastor wasn’t bothered by any of it, chalking it up to a rational expectation of spending so much time together.

Still, Alastor often wondered if Angel viewed their time together with the same lens he did. The truth of Valentino’s hand in their budding connection hung like a thick miasma, coloring every interaction between the two with a subtle shade of uncertainty that he found harder to shake off with each passing day.  When Angel smiled and laughed or sought out his attention, was it genuine, or was it with motive to further their deception? How could he even be sure? Even as Alastor enjoyed Angel Dust’s company, could the same be said for the other man or was he eagerly waiting for his chance to be rid of him?

“Am I covering these up?” Nifty asked, her foundation brush hovering over the fading marks on Angel Dust’s neck. Alastor caught his eye as Angel watched him through the mirror, looking away as he felt his face heat up and clearing his throat.

“Your call, really.”

Angel Dust smirked, “Leave this one,” he pointed to the most recent and therefore the darkest, stark against his collar bone, with a wink, “I’ll have Al mark me up some more tonight.”

He must’ve made a face because the singer giggled again, cut off as Nifty gripped his chin firmly again. “You’re like teenagers, I swear,” she tutted, tilting his head back as she dabbed foundation down his neck. “They got vampires down in that swamp you crawled out of? That why you bite him so hard?”

“Rougarou, actually," Alastor replied, his accent slipping out around the familiar word.  “In any case, he asks me to do it, and far be it from me to say no to him.”

“Well, he’s smarter than the last one, I’ll give him that,” she said, bouncing her large powder puff over Angel’s neck to set the foundation. Angel snickered as she swapped out the foundation brush for a smaller one, lifting up a well loved makeup palette in her free hand. His eyes closed obediently as she began packing pigment onto his lids, dark against the paleness of his skin and smoking out at the edges. 

“Back on topic, does that mean you’ve never seen a penguin or any of that shit? For reals?”

“I have not. Closest aquarium was at least two hours away if I recall correctly, seemed an awful fuss to go look at fish.”

Angel gave a low whistle “Two hours? Damn, I know you said you were a small town guy, but just how backwater was this place?”

“Small enough to know everyone by name, for better or for worse. Gossip traveled like wildfire across the bayou and lord help anyone who was the talk of the town at any given moment. I was relieved to escape when I did.”

“Bet you’re some sorta hometown hero, bein’ a big celebrity an’ all,” Angel Dust grinned as Nifty began dusting glitter onto his cheekbones and temples, the sparkle bright under the harshness of his vanity light.

“I doubt it, considering all anyone ever spoke of was football and fishing. I haven’t felt much of an urge to go back, to be honest.”

“Aww, you don’t ever miss it? Even a little bit?”

Alastor hummed, “I can say with full sincerity that I am much happier here in this room than I ever was back there.”

Angel frowned, brow knitting up but before he could speak the door suddenly opened, Valentino’s red suit garishly blinding and his smile faltering slightly when his gaze landed on Alastor.

“Shouldn’t you be in your dressing room?”

Alastor smiled wide and guileless, “Already dressed. Thought I'd keep Angel company before I went on.”

“How nice of you.”

Angel Dust had plastered on his own beaming smile, eyes still closed as Nifty glued his false eyelashes in place and his snarky voice replaced with the pitched up innocent one he used on his manager. “Vee, what’s your favorite fish?”

“Who has a favorite fish?” his tone was derisive, as though he felt inconvenienced by the very question. 

Pouting theatrically, Angel sighed, “Al said he likes catfish, but he was supposed to say he liked angel fish.”

“Ah, of course,” Alastor gave a put upon sigh, “how foolish of me. Is it too late to change my answer?”

“No, it’s fine, I see how it is. Nifty, can you believe this?”

“ _ Men _ ,” the makeup artist agreed, picking up a can of setting spray, giving his face a quick misting. “I don’t know what we see in them, really.”

“I’m still right here, I can hear you.”

Valentino looked between them, his smile tight as he was ignored by the room’s other occupants. Clearing his throat, he approached his client, resting a hand on the back of his chair, making sure to stand in the space between the vanity and Alastor.

“Angel Cakes, I was hopin’ we could chat a minute. In private.”

“What about?” Angel Dust’s tone was light and casual but Alastor could sense the thread of anxiety lacing through it.

“You been gettin’ a lot of attention online, higher ups just wanted me to check in.”

Angel Dust finally opened his eyes with a touch from Nifty, staring into the mirror where he could see Alastor watching. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments before he turned his head up to Valentino, batting his lashes.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not, Sweetheart,” Valentino simpered. “You know how they are, I just want to make sure you’re okay, you know that.”

Alastor rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Al’s been real sweet, a total gentleman,” Angel Dust preened, laying his ditzy persona on thick and even going so far as to rest a hand on Valentino’s forearm. “Told ya he’d be good to have on tour, didn’t I? Keep me outta trouble.”

“You sure did, Angel Cakes,” Valentino said through gritted teeth, his smile hanging on by a thread.

“Is this about what Al an’ Rosie were talkin’ about this mornin’? Y’know… the stuff about us...” Angel Dust trailed off, wriggling awkwardly as though he were embarrassed. Alastor would have to praise his acting once he got the chance, it truly was uncanny.

“Oh, you heard that?” Alastor sighed, shaking his head. “I’d hoped you were still sleeping… nothing to worry about, my dear, it’s been taken care of.”

Valentino turned, “Rosie called you?”

Alastor made a point to glance at Angel Dust before looking up at the other man, “She was asking me about the rumors of our relationship and if she should be coordinating our PR teams to prepare some sort of announcement. I told her it was far too soon for that sort of thing and I’d like to avoid it, keep my privacy. With Angel Dust’s reputation I suppose the executives had some concerns but I was under the impression she had scheduled a meeting with you to discuss those during the show tonight… were you not aware of that?”

“I was.” If looks could kill, Alastor was sure he’d be ashes on the floor but instead he just kept smiling, hoping it looked as smug as he felt. “I hadn’t realized she’d already spoken to you, I forget how on top of things she can be. Glad to know she’s taking this seriously. She knows how I worry about what people say about my Angel Cakes.”

“Aww, Vee, people talkin’ is always gonna happen,” Angel Dust injected just enough of a whine into his voice to toe the line of petulance, an exaggerated pout on his lips. “It’s like I told ya, we’re just havin’ some fun is all, no need to make a fuss. You don’t gotta get all serious about it, Smiles is takin’ good care of me,”

He gave a salacious wink and Valentino grimaced. “Angel Cakes…”

The pop star turned in his chair, eyes big and shining, “Should I talk to Rosie, too? I don’t want this gettin’ outta control like… like last time.” His expression fell and Valentino’s grimace became even more pained.

Alastor hummed, “Now, now, darling, don’t work yourself up right before you go on stage. I’m sure both Rosie and Valentino have it well taken care of. Our reputations and best interests are their number one priorities,” he looked up at Valentino with another guileless smile. “Aren’t they?”

Valentino stepped away from Angel Dust, speaking through gritted teeth, “Of course they are.”

Angel Dust continued to pout, “I don’t want Al gettin’ in trouble jus’ cause we’re foolin’ around a li’l…”

“I’m sure that isn’t the case at all. I’ll call Rosie after your set this evening and I’m sure she’ll answer any questions you might have… if Valentino is alright with that, of course.”

“Of course,” he sneered. “You’re lucky to have such a good manager, Alastor.”

He grinned, “The best in the business, so I’m told.”

Valentino jaw twitched.

There was a knock at the door and a member of tech staff poked his head in. “Five minutes, Mr. LeBlanc.”

Alastor set his book aside, rising to his feet. “Ah, that time already?”

“Nifty, are we finished? I wanna go watch.”

Valentino looked like he wanted to argue, but Angel was already out of his chair, lacing his fingers into Alastor’s and pressing against his side with a beaming smile, his heels putting Alastor’s head in the perfect position to touch against his shoulder, which he did while smirking up at Valentino. 

“I’ll do a touch up before you go on stage,” she replied, packing a few necessities into a small bag and following after them as Angel Dust began dragging Alastor out of the room. At the last moment, Alastor leaned back to call out to Valentino.

“No worries, I’m sure you and Rosie will work this all out in no time!”

Disappearing into the hallway, neither saw Valentino rear back and punch the wall.


	8. Chapter 8

“Housekeeping!”

Alastor lifted his head blearily, looking over his shoulder at the falsetto tinged call. As his eyes focused – as much as they could without his glasses – on his tour mate, he grunted and face planted back into his pillow.

“Oh, come on, it ain’t even that early.”

Alastor grumbled into the fabric and fluff and, though he was sure no actual words formed, Angel Dust laughed.

“Look, I even braved the wilds of the general public to get you a coffee. Black like your fuckin’ soul an’ just as bitter.”

Shoving an arm out from under the comforter, Alastor pawed at the night table before finally retrieving his glasses, rolling onto his side and sliding them on. 

“How’d y’even git in heah,” he muttered, his accent thick and free flowing, sitting up and yawning widely. The blanket pooled around his waist and, as he reached for the coffee, he ignored the way Angel Dust’s eyes lit up at the sight of his bare chest and the slur to his words, used to it by now after over a month of living in close quarters. Blowing into the opening of the cup, he looked to the clock, “Sha, s’only six, s’too early fer dis…”

“Swiped your key when I dropped you off last night,” Angel Dust replied easily, sipping at his own drink, surely thick with sugar and beige with milk. “Go take a shower, I’m takin’ you somewhere today.”

Alastor hummed, trying to disguise his drawl as he sipped at the coffee and failing. “Dat righ’?”

“Yep,” Angel Dust flopped onto the chair next to the desk, rolling back a few inches before kicking his feet up. “And don’t bother askin’ where, it’s a surprise.”

Mouth full, Alastor rolled his eyes and hummed his disapproval, but still swung his feet off the bed. He again ignored the way Angel Dust’s eyes zeroed in on his stomach and the way his pajama pants hung low on his hips, padding the short distance to the luggage rack to fetch a change of clothes before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

It was one of the free days where they didn’t have a show scheduled, objectively to give them some reprieve every two or three performances but mostly to not break labor laws and get sued by the tech union. Since the beginning of  _ the arrangement _ they’d spent them mostly in Angel’s suite, eating take out and arguing over what to watch, bickering between nature documentaries and true crime dramas before defaulting to some sort of comedy special or old sitcom from the nineties.

Once or twice they’d gone “sightseeing”, visiting a restaurant or bar in walking distance just to stretch their legs and enjoy some fresh air and snap a few photos to send the internet into a tizzy, but more often than not they were simply too tired from travel and performing to do much more than lounge around doing nothing.

Apparently Angel Dust had decided that wouldn’t be in the cards for today.

It was nearly forty minutes later that he stepped out of the bathroom, freshly shaved, showered, and far more awake in a soft pullover and comfortable pair of slacks.

He sipped at his now lukewarm coffee, reaching past Angel to grab his wallet off the desk and pausing only briefly as a familiar scent hit him. “I’m just going to buy you a bottle of cologne at this rate.”

Giving his patented cutesy smile that Alastor absolutely did not find endearing at all, the pop star batted his eyes, rising to his feet. “I’ll still keep stealin’ yours, bayou boy.”

“You’re insufferable.” Alastor huffed, ignoring the discomfort the reference to his accent brought up. “And it’s pronounced  _ bayou _ .”

“Yeah, yeah… c’mon, car’s already out front an’ before you asked, yes Vaggie and Chacha know about it.”

Rolling his eyes, Alastor slipped on his shoes before holding his hand out expectantly. Pouting, Angel Dust fished the key card out of his pocket, blowing a raspberry as Alastor slid it into his wallet before leading him into the hallway. As they waited for the elevator, Alastor took note of the fact that Angel was wearing jeans for once. Black skinny jeans paired with a soft looking pale pink t-shirt, lacking the flash of his usual attire but still suiting him well. 

Angel noticed his look and smirked, slipping a pair of simple black sunglasses over his eyes, his usual bedazzled and kitschy pairs nowhere in sight. “All part of the disguise, Chacha put a hat in the car for me, too.”

“Disguise? Are we robbing a bank today?”

“Nah, that’s next week. An’ stop askin’, I ain’t gonna spill.”

\--

In the first half hour spent in the car Alastor finished the breakfast sandwich Angel had provided him and watched the city disappear behind them as he drained the final dregs of his coffee. He cast Angel several inquisitive glances, only to be pointedly ignored as the pop star scrolled through his phone, shooting off text messages to who he guessed were Cherri, based on the amount of emojis he was using, and Charlie, based on the amount of GIFs he used instead of typing any sort of actual response. 

As the travel time trickled past an hour, he began to shift in his seat, fingers drumming against his thigh. While he couldn’t quite see the ocean from the highway they were driving down, the slight scent of salt water on the air was unmistakable and he frowned in thought.

“We’re not going to the beach.”

It wasn’t a question but Angel hummed in agreement.

“How much longer?”

“Gotta piss?”

Alastor rolled his eyes at the crudeness, “No.”

Glancing up, Angel smiled, “Prolly another hour give or take.”

Alastor turned his gaze back out the window. “And it’s not the beach?”

“Not the beach.” 

Watching in the reflection as Angel turned his attention back to his phone, Alastor sighed shifting his focus to the passing scenery. He must have drifted off at some point, jerking awake as Angel shook his shoulder.

“You snore.”

“Do not,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes and sitting up as Angel exited the vehicle, a cap already pulled over his hair to disguise its length. Straightening his glasses and stepping out of the car himself, Alastor looked at the building they were parked in front of and tilted his head. “An aquarium?” 

“You said you’d never been to one… this is apparently one of the best in the country.” Angel Dust had dropped his sunglasses over his eyes to disguise his expression, but they weren’t big enough to hide the way his cheeks had flushed, clearing his throat after a minute. “Now close the damn door, this is probably a fire lane.”

Alastor looked around curiously as they entered and Angel presented their tickets. The large statue of an orca whale suspended from the ceiling caught his eye for just a moment before it was pulled to a pair of humpback whales just a few meters away.

“They got two paths you can take, I guess.” Angel Dust murmured, drawing him out of his reverie as he opened up a pamphlet. “Oceans Edge is that way, Open Seas over there. Anythin’ in particular you wanna see first? Sea otters are a big thing here I guess… and they got this thing called the Wave Crash? That sounds pretty cool…”

Alastor stared, feeling as though he was seeing the other man for the first time. “We drove two hours to go to an aquarium?”

Angel looked up and frowned. “…do you not like it?” He flipped a page in the pamphlet and then another. “They got penguins? Uhh… how about… um, you probably won’t like the touch pool much but what about, uh… they got…”

“Angel.”

Alastor reached forward, his hand resting over Angel’s to push the pamphlet down. Angel stared at where their hands were touching for a long moment before tilting his head up and this close Alastor could see through the tint of his lenses to the way his eyes were wide and fearful.

“Let’s hit the Open Seas.”

The smile he got in response made something in his chest swell, but he didn’t have much time to think on it as Angel practically skipped towards the path in question dragging him along.

They wandered almost aimlessly, pausing at any attraction that called their attention. The sea otters were cooed over by Angel as they swam by on their backs, the various tanks they passed had them standing for several long stints just watching the wide variety of sea life swim by, and they meandered into the splash zone just in time for the penguin feeding. 

With each exhibit Angel Dust would crowd close to him excitedly, spouting off some random fact he knew about a creature in the tank on display. Their hands would brush as they walked, the space between them shrinking with seemingly every step, though neither commented nor moved away.

There were surprisingly few other visitors milling about, though Alastor assumed that was due to it being a Tuesday morning and people were most likely at work or school. Of the handful of other people already there, mothers with young children, a few elderly couples, and the odd twenty-something, none paid them mind or seemed to recognize them as they wandered around the numerous exhibits. It took less than an hour for Angel Dust to be fed up with his hat, disposing of it in a bin with barely a thought.

As they entered the room labeled “Kelp Forest”, Angel Dust rushed forward to claim a bench, leaning back and looking up at the towering tank. Alastor sat next to him, their legs barely brushing together, and craned his neck up at the slowly swimming fish and imposingly tall seaweed fronds swaying with the water.

“So, how you enjoyin’ it? Still think it’s a waste of time?”

“I’m pleasantly surprised,” Alastor admitted easily. “The spectacle, if nothing else, is worth the cost of admission, and I quite liked the room with all the jelly fish.”

”It was pretty cool,” Angel agreed with a wide smile. “That wave crash thing was fun.”

“You did take quite a few pictures while we were there. Whatever would you have done if it were actually crowded today?”

“Woulda had to settle for shit photos with people in the background,” Angel Dust shrugged. “Probably won’t post any anyways… It’s real pretty in here, but the lighting’s garbage. I look so washed out.”

“Oh no, whatever would your fans think?” Alastor gave a sarcastic sigh, shaking his head slowly. He laughed when Angel Dust pushed him, catching himself on the bench and nudging him back with his shoulder. They pushed back and forth a few more times before settling back, their sides warm against one another.

“Anything else you like? I liked the otters, they were cute. Ooh, and the penguins!”

Alastor smirked, “Not any of the fish? I’d thought you’d be champing at the bit to point out your favorite to me.”

“Eh… they don’t have my favorite one here.”

“That’s surprising with just how many they have. What’s your favorite?”

Angel Dust grinned, “Blob fish.”

“You made that up.”

“Did not, it’s a real thing!” Angel Dust pulled out his phone, swiping past the numerous notifications on the home screen to pull up the internet browser. Alastor was surprised to note it was nearly two in the afternoon considering it felt as though they had just arrived.

With just a few clicks Angel had pulled up a photo of a sad looking pink mass that looked more like a deflated beach ball than an animal. Alastor stared at it for a long moment, brow knitting up.

“It’s so fuckin’ ugly it’s cute, like a pug,” Angel Dust laughed, zooming in on the photo and focusing on the creatures bulbous nose and sunken eyes. “They live real deep down in the ocean and because they ain’t got real skeletons like other fish this is what they look like when they get brought to the surface. Look at his dumb stupid face, I love these ugly fucks.”

“Well, it’s no  _ goujon- _ ahem, catfish but there’s no accounting for taste.”

Angel grinned, nose wrinkling up and eyes crinkling at the corner in a way that certainly did not make Alastor’s face feel warm. “Cute.”

“Hm?”

“Your accent.  _ Goojohn _ ,” he repeated poorly, giving a small laugh. “It’s cute when you let it out. Like this morning!”

Alastor shifted uncomfortably, “Yes, well… it doesn’t happen often so don’t get too used to it.”

Angel ignored him, “I should get like a list of funny words and make you read it. Y’know, Chacha makes fun of the way I say crayon but she says car like she’s from Syracuse so I don’t think she can fuckin’ talk y’know?” He grinned, giving him a nudge. “You gotta let it out more, I wanna hear what the real you sounds like when you’re pissed I beat you at cards.”

“This  _ is _ the real me,” Alastor bit out, his shoulders straightening.

“You know what I mean,” Angel shook his head, frowning at how tense Alastor had gotten. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

After a long moment Angel sighed, “Yeah, okay…” he slipped his phone into his back pocket and turned his attention back to the fish tank, the motion moving him a few inches away and leaving Alastor’s side suddenly cold. They sat in an awkward silence, the previous warmth to their interaction doused and leaving a frigid sort of void behind. Eventually Angel sighed again, the forced levity in his voice paper thin. “You hungry? We should stop for lunch, the restaurant at this joint is apparently real good.”

“Creole.”

Alastor wasn’t looking but he could see in his peripheral the way Angel turned to look at him, head tilted slightly. “Huh?”

“My natural accent. It’s Creole. It’s less of an accent and more of a language of its own, though, considering the trouble most people have understanding it. Most everyone in my hometown spoke it, but no one on the radio…” he paused. “I knew if I wanted to be successful I’d have to be easier to understand so I taught myself to… talk like this.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“I didn’t do it all the time, mind, only when I was working… even when I was first signed I only ever used this voice while performing. It’s similar to my singing voice so it was an easy enough trick to switch back and forth… but that caused confusion when I was being interviewed and used my natural voice while speaking. There were accusations of me being a front performer, lip syncing along to someone else. Even when I sang live people were suspicious after hearing me speak… there were some discussions about my marketability potential long term with the higher ups… so Rosie and I decided it would be for the best if I just spoke like this all the time.”

“Al…”

“It’s easier, really,” Alastor tried to feign indifference, shrugging a shoulder, “to talk like this. People understand me, more. They don’t make me repeat myself or look at me like I’m…” he huffed. “I expected to be judged on my skin color or even just for being Southern, but it was a surprise when people heard me speak and thought I was  _ stupid _ . When I talk like this... they don’t treat me like I’m just some backwater hick.”

“Shit, Smiles, I had no idea.” Angel looked like he wanted to reach over but his hand only jerked at the aborted movement, landing limply in his own lap as he cleared his throat. “If you couldn’t stand me before, musta made it even worse when you found out I was fakin’ stupid, huh?”

Alastor shrugged slightly, “It didn’t exactly help, no… but at the same time it was impressive to me that you could bite your tongue for so long. I wouldn’t last a day with how people speak down to you, yet you’ve managed to not only let it roll off your back but also used it to your advantage.”

“It ain’t easy,” Angel admitted. “But I figured out real early there’s nothin’ I could really do to convince people I’m smart. I didn’t do too good in school as a kid and, fuck, you hear how  _ I _ talk, that shit don’t help… People see what they wanna see and make up their minds real quick. But even with all those pricks I know there’s plenty of people who actually get me and  _ they _ know I ain’t stupid. That’s all that matters.” Finally closing the distance, he gave Alastor’s shoulder a slight nudge with his own. “An’ I know you ain’t stupid no matter how you talk, no accent’s gonna change that.”

“Thank you.” Alastor wasn’t sure what else to say, not realizing he wanted the confirmation until Angel had voiced it. He focused on the warmth of his shoulder, feeling even lighter as the knot of anxiety in his chest loosened.

“But if it changes anythin’ I just wanna throw out that the southern thing  _ totally _ does it for me.”

If Alastor hadn’t been smiling already the cackling laugh Angel let out when he shoved him to the floor would’ve done the trick.

\--

“Can’t believe the restaurant closed so early,” Angel huffed as they made their way to the exit. “I really wanted to eat there, too!”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Angel Dust groaned. “Now we’ll have to stop for fast food on the way back or starve for another two hours ‘til we get to the hotel!”

“You were just saying yesterday that you wanted to try In-N-Out or whatever it’s called, we can go there.” Alastor paused as they passed the gift shop, leaning back just a bit as his eyes caught a flash of pink.

Angel grumbled theatrically, “I  _ guess _ … but I’m gonna eat your fries.”

“See, problem solved. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make a quick stop at the restroom before we go. How about you head to the car and I’ll meet you in a moment?”

“What is with you an’ needin’ to piss the second you get in a movin’ vehicle, you’re like a four year old,” Angel smirked, rolling his eyes as he turned towards the exit. “If you’re not out in five, I’m sendin’ a search party.”

As soon as Angel was out of sight, Alastor pivoted, already pulling his wallet out of his pocket as he crossed into the gift shop. Thankfully, it was just as empty as the rest of the aquarium, the teenage attendant perking up slightly as he approached with his selection and processing the purchase with little fanfare. 

Sliding into the car a few minutes later, Angel Dust looked up from his phone just in time for the bag to be pressed into his chest. 

“What the- they givin’ out gift bags in the bathroom now?” He grinned, eyebrow raised as Alastor settled into his seat before knitting up as he actually looked at the bag. “Wait, is this for me?”

“No, I just wanted you to hold it for me. Two hours is a rather long drive, after all, my hands will get tired.”

Angel’s fingers dug into the plastic of the bag but he didn’t open it. “You got me a gift?”

“I supposed that might be why they call it a gift shop,” Alastor hummed, smirking when Angel smacked his arm at the sarcasm. “Yes, I got you a gift. I wanted to thank you properly for a wonderful day and despite not having your favorite fish on exhibit, they  _ did _ have it somewhere in the building.”

Finally reaching into the bag, Angel pulled out a fluffy blobfish plush. A little larger than a basketball, the toy was more oval than round with sunken button eyes and a bulbous nose stitched onto the front above the cartoonishly frowning lips. Despite its tragic appearance, Alastor could see why Angel found it somewhat cute, especially when the blonde dropped the bag, smushing his face into the soft fabric of its body.

“Itza fugly fish,” Angel’s voice was muffled but Alastor could hear the smile in it regardless.

“Hmm, I wondered why it reminded me of you.”

When Angel smacked him this time, Alastor couldn’t help but laugh.

\--

Returning to the hotel just shy of eight, the pair waited for the elevator as Angel flipped through his phone. “Cherri’s gettin’ a table down at the bar, you down?”

Alastor hummed thoughtfully, stepping in as the doors opened, before shrugging. “Why not? I could use a few drinks to wash down my six french fries.”

“Oh, don’t even start with me,” Angel rolled his eyes, pressing their floor buttons, “I told you to order extra.”

“I  _ did _ order extra.”

Wrinkling up his nose and mouthing Alastor’s words back snottily, Angel typed out a reply. “I’m gonna do my face and change, I’ll meet you down there?”

“Ah, so I’ll have time for a nap. Perfect.”

The doors opened just in time for Angel Dust to shove him, sending Alastor stumbling into the hallway with a laugh. Turning back he found Angel flipping him off and trying to hide his smile in his new plushie.

Alastor smiled in response.

“Half an hour?”

Angel averted his eyes, his cheeks darkening as the doors started to close. “Yeah, yeah… half an hour.”

Knowing it would be closer to an hour for Angel to put on his makeup and choose an outfit, Alastor took his time showering. With a fresh change of clothes and hair still damp forty minutes later, the elevator brought him down to the lobby. The hotel bar was where many of the crew gatherings began and Alastor could already see a few familiar faces milling about, Husker at the bar talking to Nifty of all people, and a few tech hands and dancers grouped at tables and booths already carousing. 

It was the flashy pink of Angel’s top that caught his eye, the singer’s makeup freshly done as he pressed close to Cherri, the pair peering over Angel’s phone in a tucked away corner booth. No doubt he was showing off the countless photos from their excursion today if the way he was chattering away had anything to say about it.

Alastor hung back for a moment, a warm feeling flooding his chest at how happy Angel looked, the wide smile on his face, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, and just how open he seemed to be with his best friend. 

What he would give for Angel to always look like that. 

“Somethin’ tells me you ain’t the big screamin’ tantrum breakup kinda guy.”

Alastor jolted at the thoughtful hum, turning to find Valentino standing just behind him, the man’s expression – from what he could see below the mirrored lenses –theatrically contemplative. 

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’ for it, really, sad how these tour romances fizzle out so fast,” Valentino shook his head, a dramatic pout tugging at his lower lip. “I just don’t think you two are workin’ out anymore.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes, “What are you implying?”

“You ain’t gettin’ results,” Valentino’s faux despondent tone evened out into his usual derisive snark. “Damn near a month and you haven’t managed a single scandal, not even a front page corner mention.”

“He’s been trending on twitter for the last three weeks,” Alastor countered.

Valentino shrugged, “Yeah? A bunch of teenage girls sayin’ how cute you fuckers are doesn’t sell albums and sure as shit don’t get the media talkin’.” He smirked at Alastor’s obvious displeasure, “Oh don’t get your panties in a twist, we had a deal and I’m nothin’ if not a man of my word. Soon as this tour’s done, we’ll start promotin’ you to all the middle-American wine moms we can.”

Biting back a scathing retort, Alastor schooled his expression. “And what of the publicity you were looking for?”

“Oh, we went in a different direction. Called in the big guns.”

Alastor turned in the direction Valentino gestured, his blood running cold as he caught sight of the familiar face making his way to Angel Dust’s booth.

“Hey, Angie Baby, long time no see.”

Vox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat and struggled through writers block for weeeeeeks over that stupid aquarium date and finally just said fuck it, so I hope it's okay. On the plus side, I managed to beat like six challenges on Binding of Isaac this week so I have that going for me.
> 
> Also everyone please go read purpjools' Housemate AU series. It's gorgeous and arguably one of my favorite things to come out of this fandom.


	9. Chapter 9

“You got in a  _ fight _ ,” Vaggie cried, incredulous.

Alastor, perched on the edge of his bed, glowered at the floor, wincing as the ice pack against his face shifted. 

“I  _ won _ a fight, thank you.”

Fisting her hands into her hair, Vaggie snarled in Spanish, not even placated when Charlie rested a hand on her arm. Alastor raised his gaze to Angel, sat on the thin windowsill and staring out onto the city scape with an unreadable expression on his face.

The phone in Vaggie’s hand was uncomfortably silent, though it had been on speakerphone for the last thirty minutes. 

“We’ve got two weeks left on this tour and you get in a _fight_ in a crowded hotel bar with another fucking singer from the same label. When I said I wanted Angel to rub off on you, this wasn’t what I meant!”

Even that didn’t get a reaction out of Angel and Alastor let his gaze drop back to the floor, the smallest amount of contrition flooding his system as his split knuckles throbbed.

Suddenly the phone erupted in static, Rosie letting out an exasperated sigh on the other end. “I just got off the phone with Valentino, he said they won’t press charges.”

That elicited a response from Angel, the pop star letting out a sigh, his forehead thumping against the glass and eyes sliding shut. The tension in his shoulders seemed to bleed away but Alastor knew better than to think him relieved.

“What’s the catch?”

There was a long pause. “Your relationship with Angel is over as of tonight. They expect a public break up within the next forty-eight hours.”

“They weren’t even officially dating, it was all speculation,” Charlie frowned. “We never made a statement…”

“Alastor beating the ever loving shit out of Vox in a hotel bar is a lot more than speculation, I’d say,” Vaggie sighed. “After that kind of performance, doubt anyone’s questioning his side of things.”

Alastor flinched, “Yes, well… Valentino wanted press coverage, didn’t he?”

“This is no time for jokes,” Rosie’s tone was professional but sharp and Alastor bowed his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up in handcuffs tonight. And I’ll still be playing damage control for the next few days considering just how many people witnessed this little spectacle of yours.”

There was an uncomfortable pause and after a long moment Rosie sighed.

“Now, as for your relationship… The tour is going to continue as planned, but Vox’s presence is no accident here. Valentino didn’t come right out and say it, but it’s obvious to anyone the gambit here is to get Vox and Angel back together. On the plus side, that’s a good sign that he doesn’t suspect Angel Dust of knowing anything is going on behind the scenes… but I have been warned that if you try and interfere on his behalf the label will not hesitate to move forward with charges and there will be stern retaliation.”

Angel Dust surged to movement, grabbing a glass off the desk and hurling it across the room. Charlie screamed, pulling her and Vaggie down to duck as it shattered against the wall behind them. “Those absolute-“ he trailed off into a long stream of Italian that at any other time Alastor would have found amusing. As of right now, he just felt defeated.

“There’s nothing we can do?”

“They’ve got the backing of the execs,” Rosie replied. “Pressing charges is the least of your concerns here. Your contract is on the line here, your career. If you get dropped there's not another label that will touch you. As much as I hate Val, he ranks higher than me on the food chain… I can’t protect you from this.”

Alastor nodded and then realizing that she couldn’t see him cleared his throat. “Thank you for what you’ve been able to do, Rosie. I appreciate it.”

There was a long beat of silence before she sighed. “I’m sorry, Alastor.”

The line disconnected, leaving the room silent except for Angel’s heavy breathing, his fingers tugging at his hair as he cursed again, his voice choked with barely held back tears.

“This is  _ bullshit _ ,” Vaggie growled, rubbing a hand over Charlie’s arm as she cried into her shoulder. “How is there nothing we can do?”

“Valentino always gets what he wants.” Charlie sniffled, wiping at her face. “Especially when it comes to Angel.”

“Won’t it seem, I don’t know, fuckin’ weird for Vox to suddenly be around? For Angel to  _ willingly _ be around him after the train wreck that was their break up? That’s going to raise questions, or did they not think of that?” Vaggie scowled. 

Charlie shook her head, “They’ve been building up to it. If you check Vox’s socials he’s been posting a bunch of stuff the last week about regrets and relationships. There’s already been some buzz about him trying to get Angel back.”

Alastor sighed, “Valentino told me they weren’t getting the sort of publicity they wanted, I’m not surprised they’ve been planning something. I should’ve seen it coming… stupid of me. I played right into their hands.”

“What sort of publicity are they looking for then? Angel’s a lot more likely to deck the fucker than date him at this point.”

Angel snorted, “Are you kiddin’? That’s exactly the sorta shit they want. When’s the last time you saw a happy celebrity on the front of the tabloids?” He sighed, fingers combing his hair back from his face in a vain attempt to tame the riotous waves. “But exes after a bad break up? Those assholes want a  _ performance _ . They want me screamin’ an’ throwin’ tantrums and they want it big and public.  _ That _ gets headlines.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, wouldn’t you fight with him more if you were in a relationship?” Vaggie asked. “Alastor apparently does.”

No one laughed at her attempt at a joke and she sighed.

“If I break up with Al…” he frowned, “They’ll expect me to spiral. I always party hard after a break up, an’ if I’m partyin’ I’m an easy target. Easy to…” he trailed off, brow knitting up before he shook his head. “When I’m in a relationship, Vox has no chance because Vee knows I’m loyal, I’m anchored down… but if I’m spiralin’...”

“He thinks you’ll latch onto the first person giving you attention and he’s banking on that being Vox.”

He shrugged and Vaggie snarled, looking away. 

“I won’t allow it,” Alastor said decisively. “You’ve told me what they used to do to you, what _he_ would make you do. I won’t allow that.”

“Al...“

“I promised until the end of the tour, didn’t I?” he tried for a smile, wincing at the throb that lanced through his cheek. 

“Alastor, your career is on the line,” Vaggie interjected.

“It’s just a career,” Alastor aimed for flippancy, readjusting his ice pack, “not one I‘m particularly attached to, either.”

“No,” Angel Dust rounded on Alastor, his expression softening as he took in the other man’s battered features. He reached out, brushing his fingers against the part of Alastor’s cheek not covered by the ice pack, “You’ve already done enough for me, Smiles, I can’t let you…  _ anyone _ …” he frowned. “Not again.”

Leaning into the touch, he searched Angel’s face. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know that," Angel smiled softly. "But I'm not alone this time, am I?”

Alastor stared up at him unblinking for a long moment before smiling in return. “Well then, what’s the plan?”

“We got one thing goin’ for us,” Angel Dust shrugged, "They think I'm too stupid to know what's really goin' on... and that puts us one step ahead of them.”

\--

“Baby, c’mon, you know I’m sorry! Let’s just talk!”

“Go fuck a cactus!”

“Aww, Angie, don’t be like that!”

Alastor sat on the bus, listening to the altercation taking place loudly just outside the bus as it had done several times that week. As always, Angel Dust went for theatrics, drawing as much attention as he could as he voiced his distaste for the other man as colorfully as possible.  


“Die in a fuckin’ fire, asshole! I hope your dick rots off!”

Glancing up as the door slammed, Alastor smiled. Angel Dust shouted insults at the door in a mixture of English and Italian, banging his palm against it several times as hard as he could. After another minute or two and a final spitting insult, he stomped into the leisure area and slumped on the couch, breathing deeply with an arm thrown over his face.

Alastor waited until the all clear notification from Vaggie lit up his phone before speaking. “It’s barely eleven… tired already?”

Angel grinned, shaking his head slowly. “ _ Exhausted. _ How ‘bout you, stranger?”

Their staged break up had taken place two days after the altercation, enough time to drop subtle hints to crew members of an eventual blow out but not so much that the still swollen bruising of Alastor’s cheek wouldn’t show up in photos. They’d made sure the small argument spiralled within earshot of crew members, ending with them outside of Angel’s dressing room, the pop star pleading through watery sobs in a way that most Oscar winners would boggle at. Alastor had remained stern and unaffected in the face of the theatrics, making a show of trying to coax him out of sight and earshot which only served to draw more attention for the final notes of their break up. 

Angel had been left a mess in the hallway while Alastor disappeared into his own dressing room, photos of the interaction gaining immediate attention as they surfaced online. It had all been quite believable and Valentino had eaten it up, crowing over the front page spread their break up and the bar fight had resulted in according to Rosie; the media absolutely buzzing about what would happen with the final days of the tour. Angel had been trending on twitter for the next day and a half and Vox only continued to make a bigger nuisance of himself from then on.

Unfortunately, the side effect of  _ breaking up _ meant that they had to act as if they had broken up. It was as if their relationship had reverted to the early days of the tour and the pair barely saw each other beyond passing glimpses backstage and the few short hours on the tour bus as they traveled between the annoyingly close venues. Angel Dust would disappear the moment they arrived at a destination and Alastor avoided all social gatherings, they stopped watching each other’s performances and Alastor began using his own dressing room again. To all observers they were two exes giving each other as wide a berth as possible, and Angel fell into the role of heartbroken dumpee perfectly.  


Valentino took advantage of the situation, calling Angel Dust away for almost daily meetings, all under the guise of  _ making sure he was okay _ but overtly with the intention of forcing contact between him and Vox. While the manager feigned sympathy, claiming that Vox’s presence on the tour was out of his hands and that orders had come from “up top” he obviously relished in the explosive fights their arguments always resulted in.  Vox would show up to sound check, inject himself into post show gatherings, and some nights even managed to Houdini himself into Angel Dust’s dressing room. He’d only tried sneaking into Angel’s suite once, the experience of being locked out on the balcony on the fiftieth floor for three hours without his phone while the pop star went out with Cherri one he obviously did not want to repeat.

Still, he played the regretful ex-boyfriend, hat in hand and apologies endless, and Angel Dust reacted with all the anger and vitriol he’d tamped down in the time since their break up.

“Vaggie’s been taking the liberty of reading all of my hate mail aloud to me in your absence. Whatever you posted yesterday certainly got a reaction.”

Angel huffed, head rolling back for a moment into the crook of his elbow, “Fuck, sorry… like, I guess it’s nice my fans care so much, but you don’t deserve that shit.”

“I’m sure my social media reputation will survive. If you’d like I’m sure she can scrounge up some more photos for you to burn?”

“Ugh, she told you about that? Batshit crazy is a good look after a break up, ‘specially one of mine… maybe the stories I posted with me cryin’ were too much, though.”

Alastor tsked, “Anything worth doing is worth doing as excessively as possible, my mother always said. Maybe I’ll be so lucky that you’ll write a song about me for your next album.”

“Pfft, you fuckin’  _ wish _ , Smiles. I learned my lesson after the last one.”

“Oh darn, and that was my last chance at true fame, to be one of your immortalized exes. We have, what, fifteen minutes before Charlie shows up to fetch you? I’m sure we can come up with something catchy in that time, far better than the ones you wrote about that disgrace of a human being.”

Angel smirked. “ _ Al only gave me hickies when I made him _ don’t quite got the same ring to it… but I’ll hit you up if I get stuck with my next track.”

“See that you do, we both know I need more writing credits under my name. Might as well get something out of this.”

Angel’s expression fell at that and Alastor sighed.

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know.” Angel replied, slumping further into the sofa, sliding against the fabric until he was prone and sunk into a pile of throw pillows, his hair sticking out at odd angles and face mostly hidden. “I fuckin’ hate this shit so much. It sucks enough that I gotta put up with it, but I hate how everyone else is gettin’ shit on when they don’t deserve it. Nifty havin’ t’worry about him sneakin’ into my dressin’ room, Husk dealin’ with sound check takin’ twice as long ‘cause he keeps pissin’ me off which just pisses off the dancers and everyone else… an’ don’t even get me  _ started _ on the bullshit Vags and Chacha are goin’ through. Keepin’ watch and runnin’ interference just so I can say two words to you… everyone’s lives’re so much harder just ‘cause I’m a fuck up. ...They all must hate it.”

Alastor eyed him carefully, focusing on the down turned trembling of Angel’s mouth before clearing his throat and turning pointedly back to his book. “Now, now, I’m sure everyone is glad to help.”

He snorted derisively, “Yeah, ‘cause if I get fucked they get fucked.”

“I was more thinking they appreciate the chance to repay you for all you’ve done for them,” Alastor hummed, turning a page. “Someone who, when given success, chose to take them all with him and offer them jobs instead of casting them aside. Who not only remembers every member of the crew’s name, no matter how menial their position, but also small, inconsequential bits of information about them. Someone rather kind and generous who watches far too many nature documentaries and cheats at cards.”

Alastor glanced over the top of his book to find Angel staring at him, expression warring between confusion and surprise. After a long moment, he smirked, rolling his gaze back down to his book.

“Though with how it’s affecting my hard earned online reputation, I’d sooner let you rot.”

He raised his arm but wasn’t fast enough to block the throw pillow hurled directly at his head, cackling at Angel Dust’s irritated screech.

\--

“Angie, baby-”

Alastor paused on his way back to his dressing room as Angel stormed by, Nifty chasing after him with a makeup bag in one hand and a bottle of setting spray in the other. “Don’t you fuckin’  _ Angie baby _ me, fuckface, I told ya to stay the fuck outta my dressin' room!”

“Aw, c’mon babe!” Vox skittered behind, only stopping when Angel disappeared through the doors leading to the backstage. The contrite expression on his face bled away into one of irritated boredom, hands resting on his hips as he clicked his tongue in annoyance. Suddenly his gaze turned to Alastor and he scowled, “Enjoying the show, asshole?”

Alastor shrugged. “Well, it’s no  _ Hamilton _ but the tickets are cheaper.”

Snorting, Vox pulled out a vape pen despite their location and took a long drag. “Real fucking funny.” He exhaled a thick cloud of sickly sweet scented vapor and Alastor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Guess I owe you an apology or some shit.”

“Oh?”

“From what I hear, I stepped in on your contract.”

Frowning, Alastor looked down the hallway, his dressing room and an easy escape still out of sight. “Yes, well, wasn’t exactly my decision in the end. Business, you know.”

Vox nodded, taking another puff. “Still, s’not cool to cock block. Can’t blame you for throwin’ hands, I prolly woulda done the same thing in your place. No hard feelings, right?”

Alastor stared at him, brow knitting up. 

“Still, you got off fucking lucky when you think about it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, only had to put up with six weeks of that whiny cunt,” he shook his head, the gelled coif of his hipster pompadour not moving in the slightest. “Can you fucking imagine two years of listening to him? _Living_ with him? Fuck, at least he wasn’t sober when I had to deal with him, you must be a fucking saint to put up with that shit. Fucking deserve a medal. Nobel fucking peace prize, even.”

Alastor’s hands clenched into fists and he counted back slowly from ten.

“After the shitshow I caused I was surprised the suits even asked me back, y’know? Almost said no, but, shit, as annoying as he is you can’t pass up that ass, y’know? Get a line of coke in him and not only does he shut up while you’re plowing him, but he passes out right after so you don’t have to listen to him!”

He let out an obnoxious braying laugh and Alastor bit his tongue, the smile on his face brittle and eyes blazing as he forced out a chuckle of his own. Not trusting himself to speak, he started towards his dressing room again, bristling when Vox reached out to catch his arm.

“Hey man, but for real, no hard feelings? Like you said, s’just business and, fuck, I won’t be mad if you wanna fuck him again, y’know? I knew he was sloppy seconds since day one, no skin offa my dick if you wanna take the next three days to fuck him stupid.” He smirked, “Well, stupider. Dumb slut’ll be bouncing on my dick by the end of the week either way, even if we have to slip him somethin' to make it happen.”

Alastor saw red, his lip curling back into a snarl as he whirled to face the other man.

“Alastor!”

He paused, Vox glancing over his shoulder and letting out another puff of vapor as he gave Vaggie an obvious once over, smirking lewdly. “Well hey there,  _ Chola _ , you free tonight? I’ll show you how I eat fish tacos.”

Vaggie gripped Alastor’s arm, giving him a subtle tug in the direction of his dressing room. “Do me a favor and go piss on the third rail,” she spat, finishing it with a splash of Spanish Alastor knew from experience wasn’t flattering. Instead of getting upset, Vox just laughed, shrugging his shoulders and wandering towards the backstage door. As he disappeared she looked to Alastor, frowning at the pulsing vein in his neck. “You okay?”

After a long moment he gave a curt nod, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“I need you to do me a favor.”

\--

The final concert was a bittersweet moment for any tour. All of the excitement of the previous weeks was still there, the buzz of adrenaline from being on stage, of crowds cheering your name. The pyrotechnics still went off, the confetti still flew, but the idea that it was the last time was always there.

“Goodnight, New Jersey!”

As the lights fell and the crowd went insane, Angel Dust slipped backstage, head rolling back with a sigh and finally giving into the urge to run his hands through his sweaty hair as he joined the crowd returning to dressing rooms, all of them eager to start the party as soon as they could. Congratulations flowed, the cacophony of voices petering off as each group separated into their respective rooms, and as he caught sight of his own door, he braced himself, taking a deep breath as he opened it.

“Now, how ever will you sustain yourself without crowds of strangers shouting their adoration?”

Angel Dust blinked, turning to sofa and the source of the voice as a wide smile crossed his face. “That’s what instagram is for, Smiles.”

Alastor grinned, sitting in his shirt sleeves, jacket abandoned on the vanity, and held out a towel.

“Figured you’d be back at the hotel celebratin’ already,” Angel Dust hummed, accepting the towel and vigorously rubbing his face with it, sure he was smudging his make up more than removing it but desperate to get the sticky sweaty feeling off his forehead and nose.

“And miss your grande finale? You think so little of me?” Alastor scoffed theatrically, a hand poised to his chest. “I’m both hurt  _ and _ insulted.” 

“How'd you-“

“Swapped the names on the doors. Charlie’s keeping him distracted in my dressing room while Vaggie and Cherri run interference elsewhere. We have about thirty minutes before he figures it out.” He smirked, tilting his head. “Now go wash off all that glitter, you look like you’re about to perform at a KISS themed drag show.”

Angel Dust ducked into the bathroom, smiling at the fresh outfit hung behind the door. He bypassed the shower and instead went straight for the sink, grabbing another washcloth and setting to work. Within ten minutes he was stepping out again, sweaty hair tied back into a messy ponytail and face red from scrubbing at his make up with a few touches of smudged eyeliner left on his temples that he was too tired to attend to.  


His head popped up through the neck hole of his new shirt to find Alastor holding out a can of  _ Sharp Tooth _ and he groaned happily.

“You’re a fuckin’ prince, you know that?” Angel took several long gulps, sighing and closing his eyes briefly as he willed the caffeine to hit his system. “I ain’t lookin’ forward to the plane ride tomorrow.”

“What time is it for?”

“Flight’s at seven, Chacha usually gets me around five-ish,” Angel Dust picked the can tab absently. “The crew’s gonna wanna celebrate, fuck I’ll be up all night dodgin’ that prick. You got three more of these stashed anywhere?”

“Unfortunately, no, but I do have an alternative suggestion.”

Angel Dust quirked a brow, “Yeah?”

“This being our last evening together, I think it’s high time I let you subject me to one of those dreadful documentaries you’re always going on about.”

“Wait, you serious?”

Alastor beamed and, after checking that the coast was clear, motioned for Angel Dust to follow him into the winding hallways leading to the back exit of the venue. “But of course, my dear, you’ve talked them up so much, I’d be remiss in  _ not _ watching them. Now, hurry along, Vaggie has a car waiting for us with a key to my suite.”

“You got a suite? You? Hobbit Hole Smiles who lives in a shoe box?”

“Well, it was either that or listen to you complain about the hovel of a room I was staying in and I thought I’d take the less annoying option.”

Angel grinned, shaking his head, “Oh, don’t you worry, I’m sure I’ll find something else to bitch about. Just give me time.”

“All the time in the world, my dear.”

\--

“ _ Salmon Shark, do-do-do-do-do-do, salmon shark, do-do-do-do-do-do, _ ” Angel Dust sang as a shark swam across the screen narrated by David Attenborough nearly five hours later. 

Their phones, abandoned on the other side of the suite, had stopped ringing around midnight and, surprisingly, no one had come knocking on the door though Angel suspected Charlie and Vaggie had something to do with that. Upon their arrival, Angel had cracked open the mini bar, a poor imitation of a bartender as he made mixed drinks of a questionable nature, eagerly narrating along with the documentary he had finagled onto the television through one of the numerous streaming services the suite offered.

Alastor, several shots and half a bottle of tequila in, giggled uncontrollably at the exaggerated way Angel Dust sang, failing to stop himself from snorting.

“I’m going to miss this,” Alastor hummed as his snickering finally subsided, eyes closing as he rested his head against the back of the sofa. His accent had slipped out halfway through the second episode, four shots and two overfull drinks in, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“I’m sure your next tour’ll be just as fun,” Angel Dust replied, flopping onto the cushion next to him and cursing as a bit of his new drink sloshed over the rim of the glass. Alastor grunted, eyes blearily opening to glare at him ineffectually.

“Not that. This.” He waved his hand vaguely and Angel Dust tilted his head, licking at his now sticky fingers.

“Bitch, I’ve been tellin’ you to get a suite since day fuckin’ one, ain’t my fault you waited ‘til the last night of the tour to listen to me. Live the fuckin’ high life already!”

Alastor groaned, pushing himself forward. “Are y’being ob-bot…” his mouth worked uselessly for a few syllables before he blew a raspberry to reset himself. “Obtuse. That’s th’ word.”

“Well what else would ya miss? Shitty tequila?” 

“You, y’absolute muppet!”

Angel Dust jerked back, blinking in surprise. “Me?”

“ _ Non _ , that lamp over there,” Alastor gestured wildly, missing the lamp by about six feet. “Of course I'll miss you. I  _ like _ spendin’ time witchu, even if y’cheat at cards all th’time.”

“I don’t cheat,” Angel replied automatically, though still staring at him wide eyed.

Alastor snorted inelegantly, shifting on the plush sofa to face Angel more fully, wobbling only slightly despite his inebriation. “We should date.”

“Huh?”

“Now that the tour’s over an’ I can’t keep Valentino away,  _ putain de merde _ … if y’date me I can take care of yew.”

Angel flushed at the matter of fact tone, trying to take a sip of his drink to disguise his discomfort but only managing to spill more over the side. He cursed softly, finally leaning back to set the glass on the side table, turning back to find Alastor leaning even closer. “Al, we can’t… you know what Vee’ll do. Think of your career!”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged, swaying violently before righting himself. “I kin get another one. I never wanted to be a singer, anyway, I’ll find something else to do. Go back to radio.”

“Al, stop. What about Vaggie? If you lose your job what about her?”

“Rosie’ll get her a new one.” He leaned closer conspiratorially and failed to whisper, “She owes me a few favors.”

Angel gripped the other man’s biceps to steady him, leaning down to try and look him in the eye. “I can’t let you give up your career for me.”

“It’s fine,  _ mon Ange _ !” he said brightly, “I don’t like my job all that much and I’ll hate it even more without you around.”

Closing his eyes and sighing, Angel shook his head. “If you hate your job you should quit on your own, not for me.”

“What better reason than to be with you?”

Angel laughed beside himself, “Al, you don’t mean that…”

“Put that  _ chen mal  _ Vox in his place, s’well,” Alastor clucked his tongue as though spitting. “See how tough tough he is when I catch him again.”

“Al, no. You’re better than that. Promise me you won’t do anything to hurt your career, especially for me.”

“But,  _ cher _ …”

“Promise me, Al, or I…" Angel huffed, "I won’t talk to you ever again!”

Alastor’s eyes widened and he shook his head, swaying slightly in place. “ _ Je promets _ ,  _ n'arrête pas de me parler.” _

Angel sighed, reaching up to brace him, “Okay.”

There was a long beat of silence filled by David Attenborough’s narration and the sound of water. Alastor’s attention drifted over the TV blearily for a moment before he smiled again, turning back to Angel.

“So you’ll date me, then? For real real this time? Let me take care of you? Not fakin’ for anyone, but ferreal.”

Smiling sadly, Angel nodded, “I’d like that, Al.”

Humming happily, Alastor leaned forward only for Angel Dust to duck neatly to the side, catching him with the crook of his neck. For the briefest moment Alastor grunted his annoyance before realizing the half embrace was actually quite nice, settling closer and nuzzling his face deeper into the warm curve, cheek pressing against Angel Dust’s bare shoulder.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you,” he hummed sleepily, eyes drifting shut as Angel Dust’s arm curled around him. The pop star’s fingers stroked up and down his back soothingly and just as he lost consciousness he could feel the other man sigh.

“You, too, Smiles.”

\--

Alastor awoke with a pounding headache, the sliver of light coming through the curtains at the perfect angle to blind him as he sat up, groaning. 

He didn’t have to look to know the rest of the suite was empty, knowing that Angel’s flight must’ve departed hours before. The previous night flooded back to him in sporadic blurbs, hazy in the way only drinking tequila made him. Sighing, he wished he had drank enough to black out completely, some sort of reprieve from the shooting pain that jumped between his skull and his chest.

It took almost fifteen minutes to work through the nausea to sit up fully surprised to find not only his phone on the coffee table in front of him, but also a glass of water and some ibuprofen.

After dry swallowing the pills, he managed to open his phone, grimacing at the low battery level. As though on auto pilot, he opened his messages, bypassing the few he had expected from Vaggie only to pause when the message thread he was looking for was nowhere to be seen.

Switching to his contact list, he scrolled uselessly for a moment, brow knitting before realization hit.

Angel Dust had deleted himself out of his phone before leaving.


	10. Chapter 10

_NOT TOO LATE TO SAY SORRY – DUSTOX BACK TOGETHER?_

The gossip magazine taunted Alastor from the shelf of the convenience store three weeks later as he waited to check out, the shocking yellow of the text garish and eye catching over the blown up paparazzi photo.

With the sudden shift from Angel Dust’s near constant company to radio silence, Alastor was left feeling adrift and unfocused, unable to recall just how he had passed his free time before the boisterous blond entered his life. The once soothing comfort of the silence of his apartment soon became oppressive and deafening and he found himself making up reasons to wander into the city for a lack of anything better to do.

The cover photo was candid, Angel Dust’s face hidden behind a gaudy pair of oversized cat eye sunglasses despite it obviously being night time, pressed uncomfortably close to Vox’s side as the other man led him with a firm grip around his waist.

Before he could think too long or talk himself out of it, the magazine was on the counter and his card was in the machine.

The article was typical gossip magazine schlock. A sensationalized breakdown of Angel Dust’s relationship with Vox, a cartoonish timeline laid out across the bottom of the two page spread. Certain moments were highlighted with a photo or a piece of clip art, most obviously the flaming dumpster used to visualize their break up. The author took pains to mention a few of Angel Dust’s other high name beaus with snapshots of them peppered across to fill in space and Alastor wasn’t sure if he should be insulted that he wasn’t even mentioned in passing.

Though being careful to be vague enough for deniability, the implication of the article was obvious. Increased sightings of the pair since the end of the tour had people talking and the photo evidence did little to assuage the rumors.

Vaggie found him on his sofa the next morning with an empty bottle of whiskey and the magazine crumpled at his feet. 

“At some point either you’re going to tell me what happened on your own or I’m going to beat it out of you.”

“Nothin’ happened,” he grumbled, attempting to glare but more so narrowing his eyes against the pounding of his head.

Vaggie handed him a bottle of water, “Alastor, you’re my friend, and as much as I hate to admit it, I do give half a shit about you and your feelings. You know that, right?”

Grunting, he sipped at the water, grimacing as his stomach roiled in protest but powering through for another larger gulp.

“Contrary to popular belief, people won’t think less of you for having human emotions.”

“I know that.”

It sounded petulant even to his own ears and Vaggie sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me what happened, that’s fine… Charlie says Angel hasn’t told her much either, but I’d hope you’re not stupid enough to think any of this shit is legit,” she gave the magazine a nudge with her foot and Alastor gave another grunt in response. “We both know it’s an act, playing his part. It’d never say it to his face, but Angel’s smart enough to take care of himself, especially with jackasses like this guy.”

“He shouldn’t have to.”

“No, he shouldn’t,” she agreed, “but we both know he thinks he does and there’s nothing any of us can do to convince him otherwise.”

“If I could just talk to him-“

Vaggie held up a finger, “I may not understand one hundred percent why Angel's gone no contact, but I can make an educated guess that it starts with V and ends with ‘his shitlord manager’. I know you’re worried, but he is a grown ass man and he decided this is the best thing to do right now. Charlie is taking care of him and promised to let us know if anything happens, so we need to respect his decision.” 

“I should be there,” he muttered, shoulders slumping and head hanging down morosely. “He should want me to be there.”

“I’m sure he does.” Alastor didn’t respond to that and Vaggie sighed again, patting him softly on the head and giving his hair a tousle. “Go take a shower and get ready to go, _chucho_ , we can’t push that meeting with Rosie back anymore than you already have.”

Groaning in a way that Vaggie was sure would be sarcastic and theatrical any other day, Alastor swung to his feet, swaying slightly and grimacing as his hung over body protested before shuffling down the hall toward the bathroom. She watched him go, clucking her tongue at the sad sight he made before sighing and turning her attention to tidying up the room.

Picking up the discarded magazine, her eyes rolled at the way Alastor had scribbled over Vox’s face with a pen like a child. “Fucker better not puke in the car again or so help me…”

\--

“I have no idea what to do about these idiots,” Vaggie groaned, throwing herself back on her bed, phone pressed to her ear two weeks later. “On the one hand, I’m glad he finally figured out smart phones can do more than make calls, but if I have to see one more shitty crowd video of Angel filmed on a potato I am going to scream.”

Charlie laughed on the other line, the bright sound bringing a smile to Vaggie’s face despite her irritation. “Oh, it can’t be all that bad.”

“It is!” Vaggie insisted, still grinning. “It was funny watching him struggle to figure out how to even use the damn thing, but now he’s spending more time flipping between social media than working! Rosie had to call him out on refreshing his feed during a meeting yesterday! Do you know what fancams are? I didn’t and now I do and I’m not okay with that.”

“I think it’s sweet that he cares that much.”

“It’s _too_ much. I know Angel didn’t mean to hurt him and everything… but he really fucked Alastor up, y’know? I think he’s convinced himself that Angel secretly hated him the whole time and just took his chance to ghost.”

Charlie hummed, “That’s not true at all… Angel feels terrible about all of this, you know he does. He’s doing what he thinks is best. If Valentino knew they were talking…. Well, we both know it would destroy him if something happened to Alastor because of him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Vaggie agreed, sighing deeply. “I just hate seeing him like this… I wish there was something we could do.”

“Just keep telling him that Angel is alright and doesn’t hate him. It’s not the greatest situation, but I can promise that he’s okay. A clean break was the best thing to make sure that both of them were safe and I’m sure Alastor understands that.”

“I guess…” Vaggie sighed, “but even if he understands it’s still driving him nuts to be on the outside. All he sees is the stuff that shows up online and all of Angel’s fans going on and on about him and Vox. You should see the way he combs over everything Angel posts, like he’s going to find a clue to steal the declaration of independence in a picture of a cocktail.”

Charlie laughed at that, “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” Vaggie cried, throwing her free hand up in despair. “Like a millimeter of Vox’s wrist showed up in a picture Angel posted last week and Alastor did not stop _bitching_ about it for two whole days! How tacky his watch was and how he better watch his back if anything were to happen to Angel – it would’ve been funny if it wasn’t just sad.”

“Well, you can assure him that there are no secret messages in his instagram posts. The SOS messages on his twitter are a different story, those are pretty obvious so I’m surprised he hasn’t picked up on them yet.”

Vaggie let out a wailing groan, “Don’t tell me _that_!” She smiled as Charlie dissolved into giggles, laughing along after a moment. “Hey… I miss you.”

There was a long pause and Vaggie could picture the way Charlie’s cheeks turned bright red, two perfect little circles of embarrassment, before her small voice came through the speakers again. “I miss you, too.”

“Two weeks, three days, and six hours.”

“I’ll be at the airport for you.”

Vaggie hummed before nodding decisively. “Alright, enough about those trash fires, tell me about your day. Did you finally get that Unicorn Frappucino you’ve been talking about?”

“Oh my god, _yes_ , and it was _so_ good Vaggie! It even changed _colors_ and when I went to stir it up and-”

Charlie continued to ramble, her voice pitched high with exuberance that kept a smile on Vaggie’s face the entire hour they were on the phone.

\--

Setting down the take out bags, Vaggie huffed as Alastor scrolled back to the top of his feed, dragging his thumb down in a futile effort to refresh it. “How’s the ex?”

“He’s not my ex,” he grumbled, chewing on the skin next to his thumbnail as he glowered at the screen. He closed twitter, opening up Instagram to see that Angel still had not made a new post since the last one three days prior- some sort of cocktail sitting on a bar top with the caption reading _“feelin’ Peachy”_ with thousands of likes and comments underneath.

Rolling her eyes, she reached forward, pushing the phone down. “If you’re gonna be suffering, you could at least jazz it up for my entertainment. Maybe put on some mascara and cry for me?”

“I’m not suffering,” he replied petulantly, but allowed her to push his phone down to his lap. “I’m… filling my time with trite gossip and frivolities. You said that’s normal.”

“Stalking your ex’s socials isn’t normal.” She paused. “Okay, it is, but it’s not healthy.”

“He’s _not_ my ex.”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “Rosie needs that finalized song list by tonight, think you can put twitter away long enough to actually look them over?”

Cut throat to her core, Rosie had made good on their contract with Valentino and his record sales had increased as promised. Riding that wave of newfound popularity had meant preparations for a new album release and the meetings with musicians, song writers, and countless others to coincide.

None of which Alastor had paid much attention to as he obsessed over his phone, much to Vaggie’s annoyance.

“Can’t you just pick everything for me?” He gave a snide smile, “Maybe then I won’t have to listen to your constant complaining about my song choice.”

“Maybe if you stopped pining like a sixteen year old girl, I wouldn’t have to do both our jobs at the same time.“

They glowered at each other for a long moment, Alastor finally scoffing and pointedly turning his attention back to his phone. “I’m not pining.”

Vaggie rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to yank at her own hair. “Why did I think you’d get better after those two ‘broke up’?” she made the air quotes, sneering derisively as Alastor’s grip tightened on his phone. “No, instead you go even crazier. You and I both know anything you read online is fake, that you’re obsessing over bullshit. You need to get a grip, Alastor, this isn’t helping him-“

“I _know_ that!” he shouted, scowling as lurched to his feet. “You think I don’t _know_ that? That Valentino could be doing _anything_ to him and I’d have no clue, no way to step in and intervene? There is _nothing_ I can do for him! At least _this_ ,” he shook the phone in her direction wildly, “is _something_. Even if it’s fake, even if it’s all staged and produced and vetted, it’s _something_ after three months of _nothing_. What else am I meant to do?”

Vaggie stared at him as he threw his phone onto the sofa, slumping onto the cushion next to it and cradling his head in his hands.

“Three months,” he muttered. “And not a word or a sign or anything to imply that he knows I’m still here. Left to wonder if he’s just decided that he never really wanted me around to begin with and it’s easier to just never speak to me again.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Alastor didn’t reply.

“Look,” she sighed, folding her arms and rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. “I’m only ever going to say this once, so you better internalize it. Looking at the two of you made me want to vomit into my own mouth on numerous occasions. The _disgusting_ way you would look at each other as if there was no one else on the entire planet was enough to cause me to dry heave and I doubt there is a single thing that could change that.”

Alastor squawked, “We did _not_ -“

She held up a finger, her expression stern. “As far as I’m concerned, Charlie’s lucky you don’t have your own instagram or she’d be right in this vomit inducing hell with me, watching him fawn over your bullshit all damn day. And I know that because she’s told me how fucking annoying _he’s_ being about this.”

Huffing, she put her hands on her hips, leveling him with a look that brooked no argument.

“Angel is many things, but as much as I hate to admit it, stupid isn’t one of them. He knew what he was doing with Vox, he knows what he's doing with all the other schmucks they keep parading him with, and he's doing it for a reason. We have to trust that. _You_ have to trust that. And,” she held up a finger when he opened his mouth to protest, “you need to focus on your job. How do you think Angel would feel knowing that despite all his efforts you’re trying to torpedo your own career?”

Alastor grimaced.

“Exactly. Now, you’re gonna put your phone down, eat your damn dinner, and look over this paperwork you’ve been avoiding so Rosie stops climbing up my ass.”

Looking at the bags on the table, Alastor tapped his foot and fingers in concert. “Did you get the pot-“

“Yes, I got you pot stickers. And _puffy chicken_ which is still the stupidest thing I have ever heard anyone call it.”

“It’s puffy!” Alastor argued, moving his phone to the table to help Vaggie unpack the bags. “You pronounced espresso with an ‘x’ for the first six months I knew you so I don’t want to hear your opinions.”

“My gold star opinions are why I’m the first assistant to last you more than six months, _cabron_ ,” Vaggie sunk to the floor, her legs folded neatly under the coffee table as Alastor shoved half a chicken finger into his mouth, the rest hanging out as he chewed to keep his hands free. “Now, even though I’m _sure_ you’ve read through all of this carefully, I’ll point out that _these_ are original song options for your next album and _these_ are options from Rosie for tracks for you to cover. I’ve taken the liberty of crossing out the ones I can’t stand already so that narrows the list down a bit, but there’s still-“

Alastor’s phone dinged, an alert lighting up on the screen.

_AngelInTheKinkyBoots just shared a post._

Alastor only managed to stop his hand just as he reached his phone, fingers clenching as he turned to look to Vaggie. She rolled her eyes, breaking her chopsticks in half to dig in.

“Go ahead, you’re not going to listen to me until you overanalyze whatever he’s decided to post anyway.”

The app was open in record time, his feed refreshing quickly to populate the post which was already racking up likes. Surprisingly, it was a video instead of a photo, not unheard of for Angel Dust but exceptionally rare. They were usually short clips from nights out carousing, snippets of his make up routines, or, to the joy of many fans, clips of yet to be released songs he was working on. Those particular videos were even rarer than the others for obvious reasons, the most recent one Alastor had found scrolling through Angel’s profile had been almost a year old, but based on what he could see of the muted video, that’s exactly what it was.

Angel strumming at his acoustic guitar, a nearby window casting a golden glow of fading sunlight over him, his freckles stark against the pale glow of his skin and the wild halo of his hair and Alastor drank in the sight like a man dying of thirst. He was so enthralled with the visuals it took almost half the video to manage to unmute it and until the end for the lyrics to sink in.

The clip was short so he immediately replayed it. And then once more to make sure he was hearing correctly.

After the fourth replay, he finally looked up to find Vaggie staring at him. He took a deep breath and appreciated that she didn’t comment on how it shuddered, setting his phone aside and nodding.

“So which songs seem the most promising?”

After a long moment Vaggie smiled, shaking her head slowly as she shuffled through the stack of papers. “Well, I like this one with a few tweaks here and there, but I think this one will utilize your range the best…”

Accepting the pages, Alastor allowed his finger tips to tap on the table top to the melody repeating in his head, suddenly more at ease than he'd been in months.

_“Cause you’re keeping me safe and warm, even when I’m home alone, wearing nothin’ but your cologne…”_

\--

“What time will we be touching down?” Alastor asked as Vaggie stowed their luggage overhead.

His thumb hovered over a link, ‘ _Angel Dust strikes again! Just another fling?’_ , the thumbnail showing Angel Dust sat across from some actor Alastor recognized from a few recent big name film releases on a restaurant patio, smiling wide and eyes shining. After a long moment of hesitation, he swiped up to close the window, opening his email nonchalantly. Looking up, he found Vaggie staring at him and he forced a smile.

The next few months had passed in a blur as Alastor had turned his focus back to his music. His free time now taken up with lengthy recording sessions and nearly constant phone calls with Rosie discussing the upcoming release and promotional period meant his twitter obsession had to take a backseat. Despite that, he still always made time to check Angel’s profile when he was alerted to a new post. Sporadic as they were, they remained very much in line with his previous posting history, but to Alastor’s discerning eye the signs were obvious. A familiar blobfish plush in the background of a photo, a Sinatra lyric used as a caption, the sudden influx of red to Angel Dust’s wardrobe.

Angel Dust reaching out in the only way he could. It made the distance easier, but also much more apparent, especially as it passed six months since he had last seen him and articles like that were just as common.

“Two,” she replied, giving the bag one last shove before sliding into her seat. “Taping’s set to start around five so we’ll have just enough time to drop off your luggage before heading to the studio for sound check and make up.”

“Good thing I showered this morning,” he joked, smile tightening when she didn’t laugh. He tapped his thumb on his phone case, hovering over the twitter icon before Vaggie rested her hand over his.

He looked over to find her giving him an understanding look, though her smile was sad. “Hey. The Tonight Show, huh? That’s huge.”

Swallowing thickly, he closed his eyes before holding down the power button on his phone. “I can’t believe the song they chose for me to perform, you’d think these people would have taste.”

“Well, they did ask for _you_ to come on…”

While Alastor hadn’t had too many television appearances, the recording session for a talk show was surprisingly straight forward and uneventful. The directed cheers from a studio audience always rang somewhat hollow as interns instructed them to be louder and coached them through it, but the few signs bearing his name and obvious clusters of actual fans boosted his mood, especially after the third time running through the song.

They claimed it was for different camera angles, but Alastor suspected it was to give the producers more opportunities to nitpick his performance as they came over with notes between each run through. After two more full runs they were finally given the thumbs up, the recording lights turning off, and the stage hands ushering him off the stage as they hurried to change out the instruments in preparation of filming the actual show.

He accepted the water bottle Vaggie offered him and drained half of it in a few large gulps, pressing the cool plastic to the side of his face with a deep sigh. “How can television lights somehow be even hotter than stage lights?”

Vaggie quirked a brow as they began their walk back to the dressing room to gather his things. “Closer to your face is my guess. Three piece wool suit probably isn’t helping much either.”

“In that case I definitely envy Angel’s wardrobe. Think it’s too late in my career to change my look? I’m told I have the legs for fishnets.”

“How dare you make me picture you in fishnets.”

“The glitter would take some getting used to, I’m sure, but Angel always said skirts were quite liberating.”

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna liberate my boot up your ass.”

Alastor laughed as they slipped into his dressing room, shrugging out of his suit jacket with a pleased sigh. “Do I have time for a shower?”

Vaggie made a noise of assent, her attention already turned back to her phone as Alastor stripped off his vest, shifting awkwardly as his shirt clung to his sweaty torso with a grimace. He toed off his shoes as he struggled with his shirt cuffs, shuffling in the direction of the tiny ensuite bathroom he’d used upon their arrival, pausing as Vaggie swore.

“Those fuckfaces upgraded your room, even though I told them not to when I made the reservations.”

“Well, that’s annoying,” he hummed, shutting the door as he pulled his shirt off, shivering as the cold air touched his skin. He raised his voice to be heard as he started the water. “Will we need new keys?”

She didn’t answer him but he could hear her muffled voice as she called the hotel, her irritation palpable though the words were indiscernible. He showered quickly, redressing in the clothes hanging on the back of the door – another comfortable button down and trousers - toweling his damp hair as he stepped back into the dressing room.

“Any luck?”

Vaggie, still glowering at her phone as he discarded the towel, huffed. “No. Despite not upgrading me along with you, it’d be an _insult_ to downgrade someone of your stature. We’re like ten floors apart now, which is bullshit.”

“Want to trade? I’m sure you’ll enjoy the suite more than I will.”

“And have to lug all our shit around to do it? Pass.”

He smirked, “Well, can’t say I didn’t offer.”

Once they arrived at the hotel, Vaggie handed him a paper envelope with his room key, shooing him off to the elevator. “I’m dropping this off for dry cleaning while I make sure our room service didn’t get fucked up when they moved you. Think you can handle getting to your room on your own?”

“I’ll be sure to light a flare should I get lost riding the elevator,” he replied, ignoring the rude gesture he received as he walked away.

Just as the elevator doors closed Alastor leaned heavily against the wall, rolling his head back against the glass to stare at the ceiling without seeing. Exhaustion flooded him, bone deep and familiar as it had become in quiet moments of solitude, no one to put on a brave face for, no distractions to keep it at bay. An almost physical force bearing a not so physical feeling, slumping his shoulders and wiping the smile off his face, the urge to crawl into his bed the moment he made it to his room suddenly overwhelming.

He was pulled from his daze as his phone buzzed in his pocket, rolling his gaze down as he fished it from his pocket to check what Vaggie had forgotten to tell him. He jolted at the notification lighting up the screen, almost dropping his phone as he moved to access it.

_AngelInTheKinkyBoots just shared a post._

_“That feel when you’re living the suite life <3”_

The photo showed a familiar pale hand, nails perfectly manicured and fingers glittering with a mishmash of assorted rings, holding a nip sized bottle of gin. To most observers it was the same as the dozens of other photos Angel posted from his hotel rooms, a snippet into the life of a traveling star, fans liking and commenting in droves even with the post being barely a minute old.

Alastor, however, immediately focused on the suitcase in the background.

The one with a garish alligator shaped luggage tag Vaggie had given him as a gag gift for Christmas the year before.

The moment the elevator door opened, he bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was hitting close to 6k words and still struggling to actually end this thing so I sat back and went "11 chapters it is!" just to get this out here. Here's hoping with that new found freedom it won't take as long to get that last update out... but Happy Holidays I guess??


	11. Chapter 11

He  _ bolted _ .

His fingers felt dumb and useless as he fumbled with the paper envelope, pausing only long enough to make sure he was going in the right direction as he thundered down the carpeted hallway. Skidding to a halt in front of the door, he bounced on his toes as he continued to wrestle with the card, almost dropping it as it finally came loose. Taking a deep breath, he pressed it to the sensor, waiting just long enough for the light to turn green before reaching for the handle and turning.

A pair of heeled boots lay discarded next to the door in a familiar heap, an even more familiar bomber jacket tossed onto the sofa with an abandoned drink on the table in front of it. Alastor barely noticed either as his attention focused on the silhouette standing by the window, backlit by the city skyline behind it. He could barely hear the click of the door latching into place over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, the thumping of his heartbeat, skipping when the figure turned to look at him, mismatched eyes unreadable.

Before he could even think to speak he found himself with his arms full and a soft, insistent mouth against his own, the distance between them closed in an instant. Months of restraint shattered as Angel Dust’s fingers clenched into the back of his shirt, almost as if to tether him down in some way. Alastor reached back in turn, one hand threading through the waves of his hair, the other cupping his jaw and angling his head to fit them together even closer.

It was like a dam burst and he was suddenly raining kisses to Angel’s cheeks, down his jaw, his neck, and back to his mouth. The pop star had no arguments, returning the gesture in kind until finally the steam seemed to evaporate, leaving them with their foreheads pressed together, just breathing in each other’s air.

After a long moment, Angel Dust laughed. “That’s not how I planned this.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“We didn’t even say hello.”

Alastor pressed another kiss to the corner of Angel Dust’s mouth, “Hello.”

“Hey.” Angel nudged at his face with his own, kissing him slow and deliberate, the iron grip on Alastor’s back finally relaxing just long enough to snake one hand up around the nape of his neck. When they finally separated again, he laughed once more. “Fuck… really shoulda done this on tour.”

“You wanted to?” Alastor watched the flush cross Angel Dust’s freckled cheeks and sighed, absolutely besotted with the image.

“Well… yeah,” Angel Dust huffed, gaze averted. “But I didn’t think you did ‘til that last night.”

Alastor was able to feel Angel Dust’s fingers playing with the bit of hair at the base of his neck absently and it distracted him for a moment. “Oh?”

“By that point it was too late for me to do anythin’, we’d already started shit and I knew I couldn’t risk draggin’ you down with me if it went sideways.”

“Is that why you ghosted me?”

Angel’s face wrinkled up, “Ugh, why is it weird hearin’ you say shit like that. Like my dad sayin’ it.” Alastor gave him an unimpressed look and Angel sighed, his deflection failing. “Vee was already suspicious of you, if he found out we were still talkin’ it’d ruin my whole plan.”

“And what plan was that?”

Angel stepped back and Alastor felt bereft, reaching for him unconsciously only for Angel to catch his hand and lace their fingers together. Tilting his head, the blond led him towards the sofa, sitting them both down and disentangling just enough to pull his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s somethin’ me an’ Cherri’d talk about every time things got real bad… never thought we’d ever actually do it, y’know? Like when you talk about what you’d do if you won the lotto? But when Vee started gunnin’ for you I actually started thinkin’ about it seriously.”

With a few swipes, Angel held the device out to him. Glancing between the garishly pink case and the man holding it out, Alastor accepted it, adjusting his glasses as he peered at the screen. His eyes widened as the bolded text of the article’s headline registered.

_ Sinsational Records Manager Valentino Ousted Under Allegations of Sexual Assault _

“That story drops at midnight,” Angel murmured. “On TMZ and any other website Chacha can get it to.”

“Is this what you’ve…” Alastor scrolled down, catching a few words as he passed like ‘trafficking’, ‘drug abuse’, and a few other accusations being levied against Valentino. “The past few months, have you…?”

“Like I said, we’d talked about doin’ it for a while, but I never thought it’d work. Didn’t think anyone would believe me or even care enough to do anythin’ about it.” Angel smiled sofly, shifting a bit to press against Alastor’s side. “And then you came and found me at the pool that night.”

“The pool?”

“You were the first to ever…” Angel trailed off, sighing quietly. “No one else ever thought to try and tell me what was up, y’know? All the guys Vee sent my way and not a single one even tried… but you wanted to help me. It made me… I realized that not everyone was out to fuck me over. Still didn’t really plan on doin’ anythin’, though… didn’t have any real evidence and no one was gonna take my word for it.”

“I’m sure my contract with Valentino would have been a vital piece of evidence, wouldn’t it?”

Angel shook his head, “I thought so ‘til I read it. Nothin’ incriminatin’ there, pretty standard ‘celebrities datin’ for the attention’ cover your ass kinda shit. I knew I’d need actual evidence if I wanted this shit to stick, especially the stuff with Vox… I was tryin’ to think of ways you could get somethin’ out of him, but he was already pretty suspicious of you and then you went and knocked Vox’s lights out and I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let anythin’ slip with you around.”

Alastor winced, “Oh…”

“You didn’t know!” Angel assured, nudging against his shoulder in what Alastor was sure was intended to be a consoling gesture. “I didn’t tell you what I was doin’, I just… I didn’t…”

“You didn’t want me to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Vee’d already threatened you… and if anyone knows exactly how to hurt me it’s him. I knew the first time I back talked him, he’d…” Angel trailed off with a sigh. “There was so much that had to go perfect for this to even have a snowball’s chance, I thought cuttin’ you off would be the easiest part.”

Alastor frowned, able to feel the way Angel’s shoulders shuddered slightly. “And was it?”

“No,” Angel croaked out, eyes filming over as he shook his head, “It was really,  _ really _ hard. Especially after I knew you actually gave a shit about me.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know, apparently I wasn’t being subtle at all.”

Angel gave a watery laugh, shaking his head and reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Yeah, well… people tell me I ain’t the smartest.”

“And those people are wrong.” Alastor tilted his head to try and look Angel in the eye but as the pop star continued to sniffle he hummed. Channeling a memory decades past, he set the phone down and reached for the glass of whiskey in front of them. Handing it to Angel, he looped his arm around the blond to pull him closer, nestling him right into the curve of his side as if he were made to fit there, stroking his thumb up and down the skin of his arm. “So what was the next step in your brilliant plan?”

Angel tensed for the briefest of moments before melting into the embrace, clearing his throat and taking a sip of the now watered down liquor. “Right. Well, Vox is a dipshit and he never deletes anythin’ off his phone.” 

Alastor barked out a laugh at the blasé delivery and was pleased when he caught sight of Angel smiling in the corner of his eye.

“It took a few weeks, but I managed to get a hold of it for long enough to transfer everything I’d need. There were tons of texts, emails, voicemails… real incrimintatin’ shit. They didn’t even try to talk in code, just straight up said that I was bein’ pimped out. Talkin’ about uppin’ my drug use and how’d they spin it to the press for the best results… and they think  _ I’m _ stupid…” he snorted, shaking his head. “Anyways, Chacha’s pops is apparently some rich ass mother fucker and she got him to hook us up with a great lawyer outside the label’s payroll. He used what we got from Vox and a list of names to build one hell of a case. We dropped the bomb last week.”

“That must’ve gone well.”

“Oh shit went  _ down _ . You ever see a bunch of old white fucks tryin’ to cover their asses all at the same time? Like headless fuckin’ chickens.”

“And Valentino was given the boot to try and save face. Typical.”

“With how manya them were name dropped or straight up part of those email chains, they probably hoped gettin’ ridda him would call me off.”

“Well they don’t know you at all, now do they?”

Angel smirked, “Made it real easy to take ‘em to the cleaners. Not only did they  _ generously _ offer to waive the penalty for breaking my contract, we were able to negotiate a severance pay and the rights to mosta my music in perpetuity, doubt they even realized what they’d signed off to me ‘til the ink was dry… wish I could see their faces when this drops tomorrow an’ they realize I’m still comin’ for them.”

“Amazing,” Alastor murmured, genuinely impressed. “Absolutely astounding, I can’t believe you managed so much so quickly. And all by yourself, incredible.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Angel admitted, the pleased bravado fading from his voice, “sometimes I asked myself if it was even worth all the risk not knowin’ if it would even work out…” he pressed closer, head bowed at just the right angle for his hair to obscure his face. “But I knew if I quit I might never see you again.”

Alastor’s chest ached at the quiet confession, grip tightening ever so slightly. “As if I would allow that,” he tried to joke, clearing his throat awkwardly at how choked up he sounded. “I just wish I could’ve been there to help you.”

“You’re here now.”

Angel finally looked up and Alastor melted, closing the distance between them to find that Angel’s mouth still tasted faintly of whiskey. Somehow the blond ended up in his lap, straddling him as his hands slipped up the back of his shirt, skin warm against his palms and mouth warmer still. Despite Alastor’s usual disinterest in such things he felt the urge to press even closer, to fill any empty space between them and make up for the distance that had plagued them for the last several months.

Angel seemingly had no issue with that, fingers of one hand back in his hair and another palming at his chest, stroking over the fabric of his shirt as if just assuring himself that the other man was there.

For the first time in what felt like decades, a dull warmth began to build low in Alastor’s belly and he briefly contemplated the notion of hoisting Angel up and carrying him through the suite to the bedroom. He could picture the way Angel’s long legs would wrap around him in surprise, the attractive flush to his face - he hadn’t done it more than a handful of times but it wasn’t as if he was a total novice after all.

Just as he braced himself to stand he was surprised by a knock at the door.

“Room service here already?” Angel asked, his voice breathy and affected but Alastor knew how food motivated the other man could truly be, especially as he clambered off and moved to the door.

Alastor leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if murdering the hotel staff would draw too much attention away from Angel’s announcement. As the blond returned with a tray and a beaming smile on his flushing face Alastor decided they couldn’t both be in the middle of a court case at the same time so he’d let it slide this once.

“She better have ordered me extra garlic…” Angel muttered as he uncovered the tray, revealing two steaming meals.

Alastor blinked, brow knitting. “Did Vaggie…?”

Angel, already picking at what Alastor knew had to be his fries because of course they were, made a noise of acknowledgment. “Who do you think got me in here? I’m famous but not ‘break me into someone else’s hotel room’ famous.”

“Suppose I’ll have to give her that raise she’s been asking for.”

“For puttin’ up with you? Better double what she’s makin’ now.”

“Oh hush,” Alastor batted Angel’s hands away from his fries halfheartedly, ignoring the affronted look he received. “I’m a treasure and a delight.”

“An’ I’m the Queen of England,”

“Keep it up and I’ll eat your dessert,  _ your highness _ .”

Angel snorted but also quickly moved to pull the styrofoam container off the tray and out of Alastor’s reach. “We both know you don’t like sweet shit.”

“Well, I like  _ you _ well enough, don’t I?”

Alastor smirked as Angel’s face flushed. “Yeah, well… uh…”

Alastor wondered how long the food would stay warm if he put the cover back on right away, but instead nudged his fries in Angel’s direction. “Seems we’ll both be rather busy for the next few months.”

“I guess,” Angel cleared his throat awkwardly. “I got a team takin’ care of all my stuff for right now, won’t be makin’ too many public appearances ‘til this all settles down, y’know? Figure they’ll need me for court shit eventually, but if it’s anythin’ like the last coupla weeks it’s gonna be a whole buncha hurry up an’ wait.” 

“Nothing that couldn’t be done while traveling, then?” Alastor tried to keep his tone casual, not missing the way Angel seemed to freeze at the comment. “I’ve a few more press appearances scheduled and then the tour… I’m sure there’s plenty of room for one more. That is… if you’re interested?”

“Really?”

Suddenly feeling embarrassed himself, Alastor busied his hands with the silverware on the tray, “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t… besides, it will be nice to have someone around while I try and work my way off  _ this  _ sinking ship. Can’t very well stay on the label knowing what’s coming, can I? Bit too late for this album and tour, but I’m sure Rosie won’t be too too hard a sell considering how much she already hates working here-”

Angel burst into laughter, leaving Alastor slightly confused. “Damn, Vaggie’s right. You  _ don’t _ read any’a the shit she has you sign, do you?”

Blinking owlishly, Alastor frowned before sniffing defensively. “Of course I do. It’d be unprofessional not to.”

“But you don’t, really.” Angel grinned, eyes sparkling and Alastor’s embarrassment was all but forgotten. “Because if you read any’a it, you’d’ve noticed that nothin’ you’ve signed for this tour had  _ anythin’ _ to do with Sinsational and was all for  _ Emporium.” _ He paused for effect, holding his hands out. “Rosie’s new record label.”

Angel suddenly leaned close, his eyelashes batting and Alastor was unable to do anything but stare him right in the eye as he spoke.

“And wouldn’t you know it, looks like  _ I’m _ in the market for a new label... think you can put in a good word for me?”

The tray cover made a metallic clinking noise as Alastor tossed it back into place, grinning at the surprised squawk Angel let out as he was lifted. Long legs wrapped around his waist and he dissolved into giggles as Alastor carried him through the suite.

“I’m sure we can work something out.”

\--

_ Two Years Later _

“There’s a private box, y’know, Rosie’s already up there. Saved you a seat, even.”

Alastor hummed, “I know, but I prefer the view from down here.”

Vaggie rolled her eyes but her smile was fond, “Charlie was telling me he’s been rehearsing non stop.”

“It’s his first public performance since the court case finalized, he wanted to make an event out of it.”

“Well, the Grammy’s are definitely the place for that. The album drop last month rolled out the red carpet for his comeback… haven’t seen a critical response that positive in years… but after all the bullshit, there’s no one who deserves it more.”

“It almost doesn’t feel real,” Alastor sighed. “Every time we came close to  _ something _ there’d be another counter suit or a delay or some trite distraction… there were days where he was so sure nothing would ever come of all of this… I’m surprised they even managed jail time, all things considered.”

Vaggie snorted derisively, “Three years in nothing to a guy like that.” She shook her head somberly, “Hollywood has a short memory for this kind of shit… plenty of old bastards who’ll welcome him back with open arms. Even Vox’s career barely took a hit, he just jumped to a new label when Sinsational went down… All we can hope is that when he does get out he’s smart enough to stay the fuck away.” 

“I’m sure he’ll try something, some last ditch attempt to lash out… vermin like that don’t go down quietly.”

“Yeah, well the second that  _ pendejo _ even looks at him he’ll have a whole team ready to fuck his shit up. What’s that you’re always saying about bayous and hiding bodies?”

“Now, now, darling, you can’t give away  _ all _ of my secrets… I still need that exit strategy should I finally give up on this singing lark.” The pair looked at each other from the corners of their eyes before snickering and finally dissolving into full laughter. 

Vaggie sobered first, wiping a tear from her eye, “When does the tour get announced?”

Alastor grinned, “Tomorrow. The first show is the beginning of June, Husk was by yesterday to try and convince him the amount of fireworks he wanted was ludacris but, well…” he shrugged. “What Angel wants, Angel gets.”

“Don’t I know it. Never pegged you for the doting type, but the flowers I have to call for every week say otherwise,” Vaggie snorted, checking her phone as it vibrated and switching back into professional mode. “The hotel staff have the pool ready to go and I have the car on standby, do you have-?”

“In my pocket,” he replied, inclining his head. “I’m not completely useless, you know.”

“I know,” she agreed, smiling softly and giving his shoulder a nudge as the lights lowered. “Hey, I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Alastor didn’t look away from the stage where a familiar silhouette stood in the darkness, “Even if I’m still a dick bag?”

She grinned, “Especially because you’re still a dick bag.”

The lights on the stage came up, illuminating Angel Dust to cacophonous applause. His time out of the spotlight had done little to tone down his style, if anything it was all the more obvious that he was choosing his outfits for himself now. From the pink and white stripes of his blazer to the jarring shade of fuschia of his elbow length gloves and the shine of the thigh high Louboutin’s Alastor had gifted him for his birthday that year, every single piece screamed Angel from all possible angles. 

The blond smiled wide as the audience continued, rising from their seats to welcome him back. He pulled the microphone from the stand, stepping around it with the grace of a trained professional, stalking to the front of the stage.

“I,” he spoke firmly, his voice cutting through the din, “have gone through hell.”

The audience cheered even louder, the lights sparkling off of the glitter in his hair and on his face. Music began as a low hum behind him, barely audible over the roar of the crowd, booming as he stomped a foot, throwing his head back with the microphone.

“And I came out  _ SINGING _ .”

Fireworks went off, the dancers in the background coming to life as the beat dropped. Angel fell into step with his dancers, tossing his head with a shower of glitter as the crowd went wild.

Vaggie laughed, shaking her head as she folded her arms. “It’s nice to know some things never change.”

Alastor watched Angel cross the stage with an overly flirty swing to his hips, winking to the camera following him. The way he smiled breathlessly, glowing with a sort of joy only performing gave him, practically coming to life under the stage lights and the smoke had his heart swelling in his chest. To think that just a few short years ago the pounding bass and strobing lights would have sent him rushing away with a sneer of derision, barely taking a moment to even look at the lascivious display let alone try to listen. That the man he'd once thought of as nothing more than a brainless harlot pandering to the slobbering masses between drug fueled scandals would be the one he held dearest in the entire world.  


“Nicer still,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over the prickling velvet of the box in his pocket with a soft smile, “how some things do.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE. OTL
> 
> I want everyone who has read, commented, kudos'd.... you all kept me pushing through. The weeks of writers block, the urge to just delete the whole chapter and start over, the thought of giving up.... I want all of you to know how much I appreciate all of you. Radiodust is the first pairing in a long while that's inspired me to write and it's all of you that keep that motivation going.
> 
> Now to start on the next one.


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